


The Tapestry of Scott Summers

by NewtypeS3



Series: The Tapestry of Scott Summers [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, POV Third Person Omniscient, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 21:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewtypeS3/pseuds/NewtypeS3
Summary: Faced with the end of his life by Terrigen poisoning, Scott Summers finds himself cast back in time to just after escaping the Island of Krakoa. Unable to tell if it's a new chance on life, or his brain finding comfort in his last seconds, Scott has some differences to make.





	1. I: What's Old Hasn't Happened Yet

“Scott?”

Scott Summers was dying. It was a feeling he’d had a thousand times before, each from a thousand different forms. He coughed, a deep rasp coming from deep in his lungs. He’d survived Brood Eggs, the Retribution Virus, being infected by the soul of En Sabbah Nur, Scott couldn’t begin to think of them all. But this… this was different.

A cloud of Terrigen mist had swept across Muir Island, leaving dozens of mutants dead in its wake. Friends and acquaintances, all dead. Cut short before their time. He should have worn a hazmat suit, should have made everyone wear one. But he’d been too concerned with helping the injured, if anyone had survived. And now it was too late.

“E-Emma!” Cyclops cried out, his voice breaking as his legs fell out beneath him. His mask felt suffocating, and he could feel his body shutting down.

She was at his side in seconds, cradling him. The Ice Queen of the Hellfire Club, Emma Frost. Scott suppressed a laugh, thinking that the Emma of back then would have found this hilarious somehow.

“Go! Get away!” he warned her, ineffectively, “The Terrigen…” his voice failed him, words failed him for a few seconds. Scott could swear Emma said something, but it was so hard to hear anything but the slowing rush of his own blood. Summoning his strength, he rasped, “We… we can’t end like this. Don’t let it end, Emma!”

He could feel her inside his mind, holding onto what little of him remained. It seemed like she agreed, and he could feel his body fading and falling away. Like he’d thought earlier, it wasn’t death like he’d experienced it before. In the distance, a bright light began to grow. Scott Summers wasn’t afraid, though. He’d faced death before, and it wasn’t like he was about to be afraid once the actual thing was happening.

Silently, he pushed himself towards the light.

 

* * *

 

“E-Emma!” Scott Summers screamed at the top of his lungs, shooting awake and lurching forward his seat.

Wait. Seat? He was just on the floor.

Many, many things occurred to Scott at the same time, but they all summed up under one category: Everything is wrong. His vision was incredibly fuzzy, like the world itself was out of focus. As his breathing slowed, his senses also began to align. It was… different, like he was a stranger in his own body. And it had to be his own body, seeing how it was his hands he was using. Hands in yellow gloves.

“I haven't used yellow in years…” Scott mumbled to himself, looking at his hands like it was the first time he’d seen them, “Not that I could se-”

He blinked.

He could see in color. No visor. His costume was a much older variant, and one that he hadn’t worn since he’d left the X-Men with Madely-

Oh.

Things snapped into clear focus. It had been many years since any of this, and the jet he was in was before the X-Men ever had the Blackbird jet. The… Strato-Jet. That was it. The autopilot was jammed on, and set for Westchester, New York.

“Krakoa.”

It held a lot of meaning for Scott. Not only was it the final mission of the original X-Men, a team he’d been on since he was but a boy, but also the first mission of his All-New X-Men. And, of course, where a third team of X-Men had been sent on a suicide mission, lead by him, and subsequently mind-wiped by his mentor when they had failed and it had grown… inconvenient for Scott. A cold fury burned in Cyclops’ chest at the memory of the Professor that day. But that could be pushed aside.

Maybe this was Emma’s final gift to him, he mused internally. Sitting down in one of the passenger seats of the Strato-Jet, Scott frowned. Either he was reliving his memories in the weirdest possible way, or he’d been somehow sent back in time. To be honest, it was actually more likely time travel was the culprit, seeing how crossed timelines and convoluted continuity seemed to be a constant for anyone with or sharing Summers’ blood.

If it was all just a dream in a dying mind, it wouldn’t hurt to just… change a few things.

And if it was real? If Scott Summers had somehow lucked into a second chance, one to make things right? Then he owed it to everyone to fix this.

A dark chuckle escaped Scott’s lips as he closed his eyes and smiled, thinking to himself. Well, you only live once, right?

 

* * *

The engines of the Strato-Jet disturbed Scott from his reveries and planning as it reached the destination pre-programmed into the computer. The low whine as the craft shuddered slightly meant that the autopilot was slowing down and adjusting itself for landing with the VTOL jets. He waited, calm, as the plane landed in the backyard of the Xavier School for Gifted Children.

As the plane began retracting back into the underground lair of the X-Men, beneath the mansion and school, Cyclops unbuckled himself and stood up. Scott had to admit his memories were suspect when it came to literally this event, but only because the Professor had also decided to mess with his mind to make him forget that second team. Darwin, Sway, Petra, and… Vulcan. Yes, they had been a team assembled hastily from Moira McTaggart’s own students. Yes, they had freed him from Krakoa, the Island that Walked Like A- No. The mindless beast, made out to be a fearsome fiend by the Professor himself. It was mere luck that his brother Vulcan had survived, absorbing the mutant Darwin into himself to survive.

Darwin’s powers had also absorbed the remnants of the other two who had died, allowing them both to survive in the fragment of Krakoa that had been hurled into space. Scott wasn’t about to let them remain there, if he could help it. But… the problem was, the Profressor could just stop him with a thought. Make him forget. And considering what Vulcan had became, was it better if he hadn’t been found at all?

Moving fast down the ramp of the Strato-Jet, Scott pushed those thoughts from his mind. Second-guessing himself would just make it worse.

“You’ve got your chance, Slim,” Cyclops muttered to himself as he came to the Professor’s command center, “If you can save, do.”

That would be his mantra. If you can save someone, if your actions can make the world better, it was nothing short of his duty to do so. However, the X-Men and time as he knew it would still come before Vulcan, especially after what he’d heard from his brother Alex about what happened in space with the Shi’ar after Vulcan had been awakened a few years ago.

Years from now.

A grim grin slid across Scott’s face as he realized he now understood his son Nathan way more than he ever had before. Time Travel only hurt the brain the more you tried to process it.

 

* * *

 

Winzeldorf, Germany. What would normally have been a peaceful and quiet night had been broken hours ago with screams of phrases in German and the rattling of pitchforks and crosses. The scent of smoke was thick from the rooftops, and the night was light up with the flicker of hundreds of makeshift torches. Kurt Wagner had never been a fan of mobs, even when he’d watched Frankenstein when he was a child. His bruised and battered body from thrown stones and mad pitchfork swipes made him sympathise with Frankenstein’s Monster all the more. Kurt curled against one of the rooftops, blending in with the shadows as best he could, feeling much like a monster himself. It just wasn’t fair.

Minutes turned to hours, and the people still never gave up. However, someone with keen eyes noticed Kurt finally and, in a fit of mad desperation, hurled his still-burning torch up onto the thatch roof alongside Kurt. Not wanting to die, the mutant known as Nightcrawler bunched up his courage and stood on the burning roof.

_ I came among them to learn, but all they chose to teach me is blind panic, discrimination, and violence.  _ He thought to himself, frowning at the jeering and yelling humans below,  _ Well. If that is all they choose to teach me, I will show them the same lessons in kind! _

Kurt lept from the rooftops, plowing into a gathering of burly men and knocking them to the cobblestone street with momentum alone. The men, frightened more than angry, scattered as Kurt’s yellow eyes and fangs glinted in the torchlight. However, it didn’t stop the rest of the entire town from closing in on Kurt.

“Well, then.” the Nightcrawler growled at the people closing in, “Who wishes to strike down the mon-”

Kurt never finished. A bright stream of pink energy lanced down from the sky, crushing cobbled streets in a slow circle around the former circus star. The crowd ran back, screaming before they suddenly froze in place.

“Scott,” a cultured bald gentleman chided as he rolled his wheelchair into Kurt’s view, weaving between frozen panicked citizens, “I had this. You didn’t need to take such a drastic action.”

Kurt turned up to where the hairless man had been looking, and saw a person leap off the roof of a non-burning building to land a few feet away. He was clothed in a mostly-blue costume, but with yellow outerwear, gloves, and boots. A streak of red across the yellow visor hiding his eyes hinted at where the energy might have come from. He approached Kurt, an unreadable expression on what little of his face Kurt could see.

“Vas… what happened?” Kurt spoke to the two newcomers in front of him, “That blast, the people… why are they all frozen?”

“I happened to the people, Mr. Wagner.” the bald man spoke up, holding out a hand to Kurt in introduction, “I am Professor Charles Xavier.”

Kurt eyed the hand warily, his eyes darting to the other man who was allowed to move, not sure what to do.

“The pink energy was my fault,” the slim man in blue and yellow admitted, holding up both gloved hands in a shrug, “I call it an Optic Blast, and it comes from my eyes.”

Kurt didn’t relax, but Xavier continued, “I couldn’t help but overhear your thoughts about how you came to learn.” He never retracted his hand, but continued with a soft smile, “I am a teacher. I run a school for gifted youngster such as you.” Charles nodded to the other man, “He is one of my older students, Cyclops."

“Scott,” Cyclops corrected as he stopped a few paces away from Nightcrawler. An odd smile quirked across his face as he looked Kurt up and down briefly, “And I’m not sorry, Professor. I’m not about to let an innocent get hurt.”

“I-I can agree with that,” Kurt nodded at Cyclops, a thankful smile spreading across his face.

“Regardless,” the professor shook his head, giving up on the subject for now, “I can help you reach your potential, Kurt Wagner. Your true potential.”

Kurt shied away from the Professor, looking much like the demon the crowd had feared him being, “And… normal?”

“Overrated.” Scott cut off the professor, “I can… understand why they feared you, Kurt,” Cyclops’ voice was soft with emotion, as he took a step closer, “But you can rise above this, and help prove that the way you were born doesn’t mean you’re any better or worse than them.”

“Scott.” Professor Xavier cut off his student, frowning.

“You… are right, mein freund,” Kurt finally said, “I do not want normal. But I want to be a whole man, I want to be Kurt Wagner. If you can help with that, Professor, I will go with you and Scott.”

Scott’s smile almost looked wistful, “I think we can do that.”

 

* * *

 

On the Strato-Jet, Kurt Wagner lay sleeping in one of the smaller compartments left aside for overnight flights or emergency bunking. The Professor had replaced the co-pilot’s seat with anchors for his own wheelchair instead, providing directions to his pilot and student. Scott was silent as he steered the plane through the skies towards Canada.

“Scott,” the Professor finally spoke up as they flew over the Altantic, “We need to talk.”

“Oh?” Scott was stone-faced.

“Whatever happened on Krakoa,” The professor continued, frowning deeper than before as he turned to look at Scott, “I can no longer see into your mind. I know we can still communicate, that you can hear me… but it’s as if there’s a wall between us.”

Scott didn’t look Charles in the eyes, “Oh.” he paused for a moment, as if in thought, “Maybe it’s some remnants of the Island messing with my head and draining my powers. If the island itself is a mutant, as you suspect… it’s hard to guess what kind of effects its own powers could have had on me.”

Scott internally sighed. He didn’t like lying. Never did. But it looked like whatever luck had sent him back in time had also kept up all the subsequent shoring up of and added mental defenses he’d had done over the years. When he’d confronted the Professor at home, it had been incredibly easy to keep up the pretense that he’d just come back from a failed expedition on the island of Krakoa.

Sure, it was suspicious that he didn’t bring up Vulcan and the others. But without Charles seeing in his mind, Scott could just brush it off as a coping mechanism that he didn’t acknowledge it happening. After all, with the bullshit that life had thrown his way in the past? Future? Whichever. A mental break was entirely understandable.

The Professor didn’t seem to buy it, but it didn’t entirely matter, either.

“If there are any changes in your condition, Scott,” The professor simply sighed.

 

“I’ll let you know, sir.” Scott allowed himself a smile as the shore of Canada came into view, “I promise.”


	2. II: The Man Named Wolverine

Quebec, Canada. The headquarters of Department H. Few people know of this secret military installation, fewer still of its purpose. Not only is it the headquarters of the mysterious Department H, but it is also the home of their best and most secret agent. A man only known as Weapon X, or the Wolverine.

Scott Summers sat in what he figured amounted to a waiting room, although it was also an office for a General by the name of Chasen. Chasen had been trying to delay meeting with the Wolverine, demanding to know why some civilian from America had been granted permission to speak with the secret agent; much less how anyone outside of Department H knew about Wolverine. Scott has decided to play things lower key than the intervention in Germany, having come in a forest green suit and his ruby quartz sunglasses. In fact, he’d come as a teacher with the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, which was entirely the Professor’s idea. How the man had kept his identity as a mutant hidden for so long was a completely mystery to Scott in retrospect.

Scott also wasn’t stupid, though. While nothing  _ should _ happen, Scott still had his visor tucked into an inner pocket, just in case.

“I’m not convinced this isn’t some private’s idea of a prank,” General Chasen glowered at Scott, having given up the shouting and screaming a few minutes ago, “You show up at the front gate, on foot. At a location on no maps, and you’re from a damned school? On a  _ recruitment drive _ ?”

Scott merely shrugged, putting on an innocent a face as one could with sunglasses, “I did get lost a few times, sir, if it helps.”

“And your security clearance,” the general continued, “I’ve only met four people with Black clearance for Department H. And none of them fund any ‘fancy’ schools, certainly none in another country.”

Scott resisted the urge to simply take off his glasses and send the General flying across the base. It should only be a few more minutes, according to his experience with the man and the Professor’s later journals. Which would no longer contain this event. Huh. His first paradox, Scott mused.

Cyclops opened his mouth again to reply, but was cut off by a second door to the office opening. The smell of cheap cigars filled the air as a shorter man walked in. He wore a garrish costume in blue and yellow, with bare arms between the yellow torso and blue gloves. Light glinted off three metal ridges on the back of the gloves’ hands, which Scott knew from experience to help guide the man’s retractable claws through his gloves. A bright red belt around his torso helped split the costume into a top and bottom, and his face was covered by a black and yellow mask that helped shape the man’s hair into a most bizarre shape.

“All right,” Wolverine growled, trying to sound like he hadn’t just been roused from bed after a rough mission, “I’m here. Now, who’s the fancy bigwig you want me to see, Chas-” the Canuck stopped as he spotted Scott sitting plainly in his chair, “...a bookworm?”

Scott tried his best to suppress a grin. Sure, Logan had always been a complete ass, and their relationship had started as incredibly rough and argumentative, but recent events (future events?) had shown Scott that Logan was one of the few people he considered friends. Seeing him so young, so free of a past, was actually refreshing. He could do without the cigars, though.

“I am,” Scott spoke, tilting his head to Wolverine in respect, “Scott Summers.”

Wolverine leaned back, looking him up and down, “Gotta say, Slim,” he groused as he took a pull off his stoogie, “I ain’t impressed.”

“The top brass is,” General Chasen grumbled in correction as he looked out the large window of his office, “And this gentleman is here to make some sort of offer to you.”

“Not interested.” Wolverine waved a hand in front of him as he turned to leave.

“Logan.” Scott simply said, and waited.

Wolverine stopped in his tracks, and a set of claws popped out of his right gauntlet with a  _ snikt _ , “How do you know that name?”

Scott smiled enigmatically, leaning back in his seat, “I have a mission I need you for, Logan. A mercy mission, and one that will let you be a free man should you join.” Scott paused, adjusting his glasses, “My benefactors know of your recent fight with the Hulk, and I’m well aware of what you can do. You’re a mutant, Logan. One of only a few who can pull this mission off with me.”

Wolverine retracted his claws with a  _ snukt _ . He took another long draw off the cigar before putting it out on the nameplate engraved on the door. Ignoring the general’s vocal protest, Wolverine turned to scott with a grin, “Well, you’ve got my attention now, Slim.”

“Not so fast!” General Chasen began shouting again, incensed at the lack of respect to his hard-earned door moniker, “The Government has put way too much money and time into you just to have you leave now. If you try walking out on us, I’ll have you put in irons!”

Grinning ferally, Logan began to advance on the general. Before he could do anything, Scott Summers was standing between him and Chasen.

“Logan is coming with me.” Scott said plainly, his hand up at the frames of his glasses, “While he may not need my protection, he is one of  _ my _ people.” He began to lower the glasses, letting some pink optic energy crackle through, “And if someone messes with my people, they’ll see what a single angry mutant can do.”

The General backed up, gasping in surprise as he bumped against the wall. An ornate frame shattered as it and the painting inside fell to the floor.

Wolverine let out a low chuckle as he let out a single middle claw. He began dragging it along the wall of General Chasen’s office as he walked out the front door. Extending a middle finger rather than a claw toward the General, he spoke up, “Guy’s got guts. I like it. I resign my commission, effective immediately.” As Scott followed Wolverine out of the office, Wolverine turned around to glare at the General, “And I’d better be getting my last paycheck.”

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” General Chasen tried to sound threatening, but his voice cracking undermined his attempt at menace, “We will track you down, Wolverine, and we will bring you home.”

The only response as the door to the office slammed was Logan’s derisive laughter.

 

* * *

 

The MacDonald-Cartier International Airport, located in Ottawa, Canada. After ‘borrowing’ a jeep from the MPs at Department H, Logan and Scott had driven to the airport mostly in silence. Scott was doing his best trying not to freeze in the uncovered vehicle, while Logan was simply spending his time trying to figure the new guy out.

Having ditched the vehicle and found Logan some fresh clothes from some luggage in the lost and found, they now found themselves waiting in line to enter the airport terminal proper. Security was far more lax than Scott ever remembered, but metal detectors were still active and ready to catch someone smuggling any weapons aboard. Or a metal skeleton.

Craaaaap. And Logan was up next for the brief screening, too.

“Logan,” Scott spoke up, sounding nervous for once, “...your claws. Aren’t they going to…?”

The man known as Wolverine pulled out his wallet and showed a special ID to the gentlemen standing guard at the metal detector, “Sorry about the noise in advance, fellas.” There was a pause as one of them shrugged and simply gestured for Logan to walk around. Logan grinned genuinely, patting the man on the shoulder, “Much obliged, sir.”

Scott himself made it through the check without fault, but did have to provide his laminated doctor’s note proving his ‘light sensitivity’ meant he couldn’t remove his glasses. Meeting Logan on the other side, Scott tilted his head questioningly at his old, new friend.

Logan held up the ID to Scott, “Veteran ID. Says I got a knee replaced with a metal rod,”

Well. That was new. Logan almost never flew commercial, and never with company. Usually, he’d just borrowed the backup Blackbird for a jaunt out to Madripoor, or called for the Inhumans’ pet Lockjaw.

Logan put his wallet back in his jeans back pocket, raising an eyebrow, “For someone who knows my name, you sure have some odd gaps in your research.”

Sighing, Scott ran a hand through his hair, “It’s not research, Logan.” he took a breath as the two entered a mostly-abandoned corridor of the terminal, heading towards their gate, “I… currently know things. Things that won’t happen for days, others that won’t happen for years to come.”

It was about as much truth as Scott was willing to give to his friend right now. Frankly, it was also an infinitely better explanation than ‘my ex-villain lover sent my mind hurtling back in time as I lay dying from exposure to alien chemicals in a cloud of green death that killed mutants but gave Inhumans their powers.’

Logan’s other eyebrow raised and he eyed Scott suspiciously, “Things?”

“I’ve seen the future, at least one form of it, for years to come. Bad things happen to mutants, and to the people I care for.” Again, part of a truth, part of a lie, “I’d like to make sure none of that happens.”

“And how do I factor in? Why me?”

Scott couldn’t help but laugh as he told the complete truth, “I didn’t want to do this without a friend at my side.”

“You’re crazy,” Wolverine decided, but didn’t move from Scott’s side as the two found an automated walkway to glide along.

“I don’t smell crazy, though.” Scott smirked at his friend.

There was a long pause, and Logan eventually admitted, “No. You don’t.” They walked in silence some more, “So. This future. Lots of adventure?”

“More than I care to stomach sometimes.”

“Do we make good?”

Scott shrugged, “I got to tell Dracula to follow his heart.”

“Ok, now you’re pulling my leg.” Wolverine laughed as he lit up a cigar despite the ‘no smoking’ sign. He took a long draw before expelling the smoke away from Scott, “All right, I’m in. But you tell me about my past, seeing how you know so much about it.”

At least it would be a long flight to Arizona. They were going to need it.


	3. III: The Last Apache

Camp Verde, Arizona. John Proudstar does not like the reservation. He does not like to watch the old ones, sitting slumped against their doorsteps, dreaming dreams of glory long gone. John Proudstar is an Apache, and he is ashamed of his people.

A wide expanse of desert surrounded John Proudstar, the hot summer sun blazing down on his tanned flesh. He moved with the speed of the wind, dashing like a marionette gliding along the ground. He delighted at the wind whipping through his hair, the rich stench of the bison stampeding at his side. None of his people, the Apache or the Yavapai who shared this reservation, had ever moved quite like this. The bison of the American plains could stampede at rates of thirty-five miles per hour, but John Proudstar could keep pace with it easily.

John reached out to run a hand through the coarse short fur of the buffalo’s mane. It was patchy and splotchy, much like life on the reservation. John reached out with both hands and jumped into the air, grabbing onto the buffalo’s horns on each side of its head. Letting out a whooping cry from deep within his chest, the man called Proudstar pulled with all his might. The bison let out a disturbed bellow as its hoofed feet left the ground, flailing wildly as gravity lost all meaning. With a deeply loud THOOM, almost a ton of wild animal crashed into the desert.

Lurching to his feet, John let out another shout as he watched the bison slowly get up, “There, horned one… do you see?” Pounding his chest with one clenched fist, he continued, “There is still a man among the Apache!”

A soft clapping greeted his boast as the bison slowly walked off a massive headache. John Proudstar spun to face what could be an opponent. He was greeted by a tall, slim man in a forest green suit and a shorter man in a garish yellow and blue costume. The suited man was the one who was clapping, and it was hard to imagine how they’d snuck up on him. John cursed himself that he must be going soft, as he noticed a beat-up rental car parked not far off.

“Who are you?” John Proudstar asked bluntly, not moving from his spot, “Not many come to Camp Verde, aside from tourists. And you two yahoos don’t look like tourists.”

“My name is Scott Summers,” the slim man began. John noticed he had discarded his suit jacket over the hood of the car, and his clean white shirt was unbuttoned, “I come from the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.”

John let out a bark of a laugh, his head tilting back at the skies of his ancestors, “A school? Don’t make me laugh anymore,” His mood turned sour and he raised a fist, “I don’t need learning, thin man. I’m going to give both of you five seconds to vamoose, before this gets ugly.”

“I told the professor that angle wouldn’t work,” Scott let out a laugh as he rubbed the back of his head and looked at the ground, “I’ll make it simple. I’m gathering a team.” Scott tossed a thumb at the costumed fellow who seemed to be enjoying the scenery, “His name is Logan. The two of you are some of the toughest sons of bitches I know of. I need tough, and I need people with the strength to perform the impossible.”

“...I’m listening.”

“What I also want is to prove that mutants are people, just like everyone else.” Scott continued, taking a small step towards the Apache, “White, black, man, woman, hero, villain, any and everything in-between.”

John Proudstar didn’t move.

“I won’t lie to you,” Scott continued, slowly moving closer with his sales pitch, “It’s dangerous as hell. But there’s also tough opponents, and even some glory to be found.”

John looked deep in thought, wondering if his life here was greater than the possibility of glory for an Apache Warrior.

“One more thing to think about, John Proudstar,” Scott finished with a thought, “I know you’re looking to bring glory to your people. What could be better than becoming a superhero?”

The shorter man snorted a laugh at that, lighting up a cigar.

“I should throw you both out on your asses,” John shook his head, “Coming to a lonely native kid, promising delusions of grandeur? Crock of bullshit.” He looked at his hands, rough with work on the land and scarred with battle, “But a rez kid like me, being a hero? Something the kids could look up to?” A soft smile grew on his anger-scarred face, “I like the thought of that.” Proudstar closed the distance between himself and Scott, hand held out, “You have a deal, thin man.”

Scott Summers grinned as he shook the Apache’s hand, “I’m glad, John.”

 

* * *

Scott was glad to leave Arizona. The heat had never agreed with him, something he blamed on his family coming from Alaska. It also didn’t help that his body just was no longer as well-trained as the one he was used to. Scott’s slimmer body had been a shock the first time he’d looked in the mirror. It wasn’t like his superpowers were based on his body’s strength, but he’d bulked up after realizing that he might need to punch people with his fists rather than his eyes. Sometime after the formation of the original X-Factor.

Ah, crap. That would be a thing, wouldn’t it?

Scott did his best not to sigh as thoughts of Cameron Hodge floated to the front of his mind. He, Logan, and John were taking a taxi from JFK airport to the Xavier Manor grounds in Westchester, New York. A long car ride, Scott admitted, but it was cheaper than grabbing a rental car yet again. And Uber wouldn’t be a thing for about two decades.

_Note to self_ , Scott mused to himself as he stared out the window, _get the X-Men a foothold on YouTube early. Make silly videos with mutants. Humanize the hell out of us while the media tries to demonize us._

_ Also: Invest in Yahoo and Google. _

The taxi slowed as it approached the closest thing Scott ever had to a home. The gates to the grounds opened slowly, creaking as the automated system pulled them open. Scott felt an intense wave of nostalgia overtake him as the car slowed to a stop at the front steps of Xavier Mansion. The Professor waited in his wheelchair at the top of the stairs, and Scott could feel his apprehension even without the man peeking into his mind. The professor’s body seemed to relax as he saw three men exiting the taxi rather than one.

“Scott,” Charles called out to his student, a smile evident on his face, “It’s good to see you again.”

Scott laughed as he jogged up the stairs to meet his teacher, slipping the obedient student mask back over his face, “It’s been maybe a day, sir.” 

“Quite,” Xavier replied, raising an eyebrow at the more jovial Scott, “You seem to be in a better mood. I’m glad that the fate of the others isn’t weighing too heavily on you.”

“I’m just barely holding myself together, Professor,” Scott shook his head softly, rubbing the back of his head, “I know they’re alive. With what the island did, they have to be. But it’s hard to imagine what they’re going through.”

Xavier nodded sagely, “Indeed, Scott. Luckily, my own travels were also just as fruitful as yours seem to have been.” The professor wheeled himself around to begin leading the three men into his home and school, “I am curious as to why you requested those two, though.”

Scott shrugged as he gestured for Logan and John to follow, “Just a hunch, sir. Nothing more.”

“Mmm.” Xavier replied, deciding to drop the subject for now, “Very well. Wolverine, John Proudstar. I welcome the both of you to my home. You know Scott Summers, but I am Professor Charles Xavier.”

“I got a brief primer on the way to Arizona,” Logan nodded at Charles, “Nice to meet ya, Chuck.”

Xavier bristled at the nickname slightly, but ignored it, “Then I’m sure he informed both of you as to the purpose of your recruitment.”

“A rescue mission,” John replied, falling into place behind Xavier and Scott, “And being superheroes after.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow at that, giving Scott a look that told him they would talk later, “Yes. That… would be a thing we do.” The massive wooden front doors eased open automatically as all four moved into the mansion, “After all, you two will become part of my Uncanny X-Men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if you couldn't tell, I had a few chapters saved up. I originally posted these three on another Fanfiction source before deciding to cross-post here as well. I welcome any and all criticism, of course. I'm also trying to avoid planning things in advance, as I've found that I just might write better by the seat of my pants.
> 
> It's also a real interesting thing to go back and re-read some of the very early comics. Thunderbird decides to call Xavier a "cripple" and "white-eyes" in the same panel, while being horribly generically Western and Native at the same time. I'm trying to make Thunderbird in general more respectable, and would appreciate feedback on the guy. I'm drawing from his brief time on the team as an angry man, and also on his time in Chaos War's Dead X-Men special for this, and I hope it makes him a little more well-rounded.
> 
> Also, thank you for taking the time to read this.


	4. IV: The New X-Men

Westchester, New York. The school had seemed like a latter-day Tower of Babel at first. A telepathic crash course in the English Language had closed the communication gap in mere seconds. Now, Professor Charles Xavier sits, somberly studying his colorfully-costumed house guests. Whatever thoughts he might have at this point are his alone to know. The man known as Cyclops, however, was doing his best to keep a straight face.

Piotr. Kurt. Ororo. Sean. Shiro. So many people he had considered either friends, brothers, or at least allies, all in front of him once more. So many decisions before them, so much life not yet lived. In the case of Kurt, Piotr, and Sean, a death not yet experienced as well. Scott leaned against the railing of the staircase in the library of the X-Mansion, where the meeting of minds was happening. Logan was by his side, an unlit cigar toying about in his fingers.

As Logan had asked, Scott had filled him in on just about everything he knew. James Howlett, as he would eventually remember, and the fragments of life shared over a beer or three in the Decimation after the House of M. Future events had been played closer to the vest to try and keep the timeline as close as possible until changes could be made, but he still warned Logan about villains like Sabretooth and Magneto. It had left his friend with a lot to think about, and he’d run up a small tab on the airline both to Arizona and to New York in alcohol while mulling the informational dump over.

The man who would become Colossus grinned like a big child at his new fancy costume. Bare arms, a flared vest with a yellow center and red sides, gold belt, and the three primary colors adorning his legs made up one hell of a costume. It was nice seeing Piotr for once not weighed down with the deaths caused by his time with the X-Men, to see a complete lack of melancholy in his face and voice.

“In all my life,” Piotr Rapsutin spoke with a thick Russian accent in otherwise perfect English, “I have never seen such clothing as this!”

Scott suppressed a grin. Amused over unstable molecules and spandex. He just had to wonder what it would be like if he’d bought Piotr an NES.

“The costume is beautiful,” Ororo Munroe mused as she looked over her arms and down her body. Despite showing off a ton of flesh, Scott remembered seeing some images the Professor had of her as a Goddess back in Kenya, and was glad the Professor had talked her into wearing it, “The fit is also perfect! How did you-”

The professor cut her off gently, “The uniforms are made from unstable molecules. They will adjust, grow, and retract when necessary. A man named Reed Richards owed me a favor, and made me several sets.” A rare genuine smile graced the Professor’s face, “I’m more than certain you all will come across them eventually, should you choose to stay with the team. But first-”

Shiro Yamada was nowhere near as nice, pointing an accusatory finger at the man in the wheelchair, “Right now, you will tell us why you dragged us all here from our homes, Professor. I, for one, am swiftly losing my patience!” His bright red and white costume made it blatant that he came from the land of Japan, and the flame deco along his boots, gloves, and face mask made it obvious as to his powers.

“Quitting already, Shiro?” Scott spoke up before the Professor could try to calm the man known as Sunfire down, “I’ll tell you why you’re here. The X-Men have vanished off the face of this Earth.” Scott paused to let that sink in.

Piotr blinked twice as he slowly raised his hand, “Excuse me, friend Cyclops. Who are the X-Men?”

Scott laughed, “That… is a great question.” He gestured to everyone as he began walking deeper into the mansion, “Follow me. I’ll explain.”

As they walked through the main corridor, Cyclops turned around to walk backwards to speak to the group, “The Professor recruited myself and four others back in 1983. I was literally a scared kid, a runaway when he found me. Others were more fortunate, but all of us were mutants.” Scott reached into an alcove by instinct and pushed down on a bust of Professor Xavier (ok, it was a bust of Patrick Stewart, a prank gift from Bobby that the Professor hadn’t caught on to yet), which triggered the secret entrance to the basement and sub-levels.

“We fought many villains, some of them would become allies, other fiercer enemies. All the while, the public would hate and fear us just for being different.” Scott continued as he gestured everyone into the newly-revealed room, “Some new members joined temporarily, and some of us actually died.” Scott glared at the Professor, “Temporarily.”

“That was for a good reason and you know that.” Charles frowned, feeling attacked.

It doesn’t explain the other thirty damned times you faked your death, Professor. Scott was incredibly thankful for the fact that his mind was still shielded from Xavier at this point.

“Still,” Scott continued, moving the group towards the Cerebro chamber, “We received an alert that a new mutant had been discovered on the island of Krakoa in the South Pacific. The Professor couldn’t narrow it down any further, but the signal was so strong that we simply had to investigate.”

Scott walked up to the Cerebro computer itself once they entered the room. It had been ages since the computer was in use, having been replaced by a Shi’ar mental interface that only telepaths could actually use. While the old one still existed somewhere in the basement of the mansion, it wasn’t something he’d used in a decade or two. A few awkward seconds of clicking at the antiquated top-of-the-line machine had bought up a full-color image of the globe. It slowly zoomed over to the island of Krakoa itself.

“This is our target.” Scott spoke up once more, pointing at the screen, “I took the full team, comprised of myself, Marvel Girl, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Havok, and Polaris,” As he spoke their names, images of each came up onscreen, “After we landed, I must admit, my memory is a complete blank. However, something certainly attacked us, leaving me without powers and barely conscious. We’re going back to rescue them. Any questions?”

Not a one raised their hand.

Scott smiled, feeling pride well up in his chest. They barely knew him, and they already wanted to help. Admittedly, Scott was banking on what had already happened in his past to predict the future, but hedging his bets never hurt.

“Thank you.” 


	5. V: The Island that Lay Like a Man

The Strato-Jet’s engines whined as the craft flew through the air, headed towards a small island on the South Pacific. The jet was fully staffed with the team now known as the X-Men. However, the 8-man aircraft also had one empty seat. To Cyclops’ complete unsurprise, the man known as Sunfire had quit the team before ever formally joining. It was a thing Shiro did. A lot. In later years, it would really grate on Scott’s nerves, but it was something he would reluctantly accept about him.

“Three…” Scott began to count down, muttering to himself, “Two…”

Mainly because it made Shiro Yamada almost predictable as hell.

“Hey, Bossman,” John Proudstar, now clad as the legendary Thunderbird in bright reds and deep blues, spoke up from the co-pilot’s seat, “There’s someone following us.” He paused, a grin on his face, “Making quite the airspeed record, to boot.”

“I don’t even need to look, John,” Cyclops’ face split into a grin as he began to flip a few switches on the center console to release the rear hatch, “It’s Sunfire, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I think he’s still got the stick up his ass,” Thunderbird glared at the flying, burning man as the streak of flame curved towards the rear of the Strato-Jet.

Scott didn’t laugh, but Logan noticed the leader’s shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as Shiro stepped aboard and extinguished his flame. Ororo Munroe, now with the moniker of Storm, frowned deeply as Sunfire took his seat beside the African-American woman. 

“So,” Kurt Wagner, going under his performance name of Nightcrawler, grinned as he kicked his feet back and reclined his seat, “The prodigal mutant returns! Why did you change your mind, Sunfire? Afraid to go home alone?”

Sunfire whirled to glare at Kurt through his fish-faced flame mask, “My reasons are nobody’s business but mine alone, misfit. You’ll do well to remember that.”

Kurt leveled a glare back at Sunfire, but didn’t say anything. Scott mentally shrugged. If the timeline kept itself intact for the rest of Krakoa despite his interference, Shiro would be leaving again in a matter of hours. If not, well… he’d deal with it when the time came. Right now, Scott had some other things in mind.

* * *

An hour passes, then two. Finally, the forsaken atoll known only as Krakoa looms full before the viewports of the Strato-Jet. The Island was like many of the area, large wooded forests coated liberally in lush and green foliage. Where it wasn’t green and brown of nature, you could see several mountains dotted among the land, with one looking like it might be a dormant volcano. The wide crater of what Scott nicknamed Mt. Krakoa yawned widely, looking like the gaping maw of the monster the island would once become.

Even though he knew what should eventually happen, Scott couldn’t help but have a chill run up his spine. Krakoa was far from his first failure, but it was certainly his worst in his early career.

“So, that’s where the so-called X-Men decided to ditch you, Bossman?” Thunderbird joked as the Strato-Jet began the first of many orbits around the island.

“Can’t say much for your taste in vacation spots, Slim,” Wolverine cracked wise, toying with the omnipresent unlit cigar, choosing to chew on the tip after speaking.

Scott smiled grimly as he remembered what would happen, “If we find them having a beach party, the first round of beers is on me.” He looked out the main windscreen, keeping an eye out for solid landing locations, “Keep on guard, though. I’m sure whatever took us all out is still around. Codenames only when we’re on the ground, no telling who might overhear.”

“I’m not fond of the name, Bossman,” Thunderbird groused a little, crossing his arms as he did so and frowning deeply at the bright red tassles running up his biceps, “The Thunderbird may be a legend, but I’m not one for telling old stories.”

Cyclops turned to look the Apache in the eyes, or as best he could, “Then choose another when we’re home. The Professor did choose your codename, but your name is a part of who you are. What makes you, you.” Cyclops flicked on the autopilot, and turned to look at everyone, “I’ve set the jet to land a half-mile out at sea. We’ve all got the ability to recall it with our X-Emblems on our belts, at which point the jet will find and land on the nearest plot of land.”

Gesturing to the opening bomb bay hatch running up the center of the Strato-Jet, Scott continued, “You all know what to do. Assault Team Alpha are Ororo and Piotr, you’ll both come in from the north towards the rally point. Terrain looks to be mountainous, but remember that valley we spotted.” Turning to the next pair, he continued, “Sean and Logan, you’re Bravo. Land on the beach, and keep in touch.” he paused, a smile cracking his serious face, “Keep an eye out for a redhead in a bikini, if they really did pull a beach party.”

Logan only chuckled in reply, flashing his leader a brief thumbs-up.

“Shiro, Kurt, you both are Gamma. Take the South, keep an eye out for anything strange.” Scott paused again, looking out the window at the south coast, “Just make sure not to burn down the entire forest, ok?”

“No.” Sunfire nearly shouted, “Not him. Not the Misfit.”

“I did not hear our leader give you a choice, matchstick,” Kurt replied as he unintentionally stole a nickname from Ben Grimm.

“That leaves Delta, Thunderbird and myself. We’re taking the west side of the island.” Scott looked to Thunderbird, waiting for any questions. None came. “Perfect. We’re coming up on the South side of the Island right now. Gamma, ready up!”

“I don’t care for your tone, Cyclops,” Shiro continued to object, but moved to follow Kurt out of the jet.

Shiro flamed on as he fell from the opening, falling like a man walking off the pirate’s plank. Kurt chose to make a show of it, pulling a fancy diving maneuver like it was the olympics. Shiro pulled up above Kurt, extinguishing his hands as he grabbed Kurt’s own.

“Bravo, move out!”

Banshee dove out of the plane, waiting until he was clear to let out a bellowing yell which pushed him afloat like his namesake. Logan plummeted through the air like a metal-cored stone, eventually using his adamantium claws to slow his fall by dragging himself along the trees until his momentum slowed to a halt.

“Alpha!”

“That is our signal, Storm!” Piotr laughed with an innocent glee as he jumped out of the plane, almost like a kid into a swimming pool.

Ororo gasped in shock as she dove after the man, using the winds themselves to push her afloat just enough so she was falling under her own power. Scott held in a laugh, he’d forgotten how carefree Piotr was in the early days. A few minutes passed as the Strato-Jet circled around once more to the west coast of the island Krakoa.

“Looks like the girl and the Commie have landed,” Thunderbird observed, “That makes all of them.

“Perfect,” Scott nodded. He unbuckled his safety harness as he made sure the Strato-Jet was going to move out to the half-mile distance, “Ready, John?”

Thunderbird did the same, cracking his neck and his knuckles, “Lead the way, Bossman.”

The two jumped out of the Strato-Jet’s bomb deployment doors without a second thought.

* * *

The first time he took the team to Krakoa (first timeline? Original time? Whatever.), Scott has been shocked to see the plane vanish as soon as he turned his back. This time, that wouldn’t be an issue, as the Strato-Jet should be perfectly safe that half-mile away. However, Scott has thrown himself into a new predicament: falling out of a plane without a parachute.

Thunderbird hadn’t cared, plummeting to the earth like a cannonball himself. The man’s enhanced reflexes and durability did him credit, allowing him to bounce off a few solid tree trunks with well-placed kicks and nudges to slow down his momentum. Only once the Titan of a man landed with an earth-cracking thump did he look up to see where Scott was.

And was greeted by a crimson pillar of raw kinetic energy slamming into the ground not 30 feet away. The loud droning noise of Cyclops’ optic blast only increased in intensity as the leader lowered himself to the ground. A smooth ditch of superheated (due to friction) dirt lay in front of Cyclops as he finally touched down like a feather before dropping to one knee.

“Always wanted to try that,” Scott grinned, feeling out of breath for a second.

“Not bad, bossman.” The Apache warrior clapped slowly as he walked over to Cyclops. Patting his boss on the back, he helped Scott to his feet.

“Thanks, Thunderbird.” Scott patted John on the shoulder as he steadied himself. He could already feel his strength returning, thanks to the solar battery he somehow was drawing energy back from the sun.

Slowly, the ground began to quake beneath the two men. Off in the distance, toward the center of the island, Scott could see an ancient temple erupting from the ground below. A towering pillar of stone with what could be intricate carvings, which Scott knew was meant to lure himself and the X-Men inside.

“Huh.” Thunderbird scratched at his chin, “Don’t remember seeing any of that before we jumped out of the plane.”

“It’s a trap.” Scott replied simply, shaking his head, “Without any other leads, though, it’s the best we have.” Cyclops began to move into the underbrush, using thin lances of his optic blasts to cut away the tangle of vines before them.

“It’s a trap but we’re going anyway?”

“Yes.” Cyclops stopped to turn back at Thunderbird, “You’ve got my back, I think we’re good.”

Thunderbird grinned as the two began to make their way to the temple that was in no way suspicious.


	6. VI: Jungle Japes

Cyclops and Thunderbird began moving slowly into the thick tropical jungle. Neither Scott Summers nor John Proudstar were much fond of the jungle. In the case of John, it was because he was used to a dry heat and an expanse of sagebrush and cactus rather than the sweltering rainforest he found himself inside. For Scott, it was a laundry list of things. The Savage Land, Krakoa the first time around, the Savage Land, that time in Genosha with Cameron Hodge, the list continued on and on. Mainly it was the Savage Land, though.

Scott was not looking forward to all those repeats of the Savage Land.

So lost in thought, Scott actually completely forgot what would happen next until it was too late. The vines in front of him and Thunderbird reached out, grabbing both of them and hoisting the two into the air. 

“The vines!” Thunderbird shouted in surprise, using his enhanced strength to try and rip them apart, “They’re alive!”

“Damn it,” Scott cursed his brain, cursing getting distracted when he should have his head on straight, “Take them out!”

Thunderbird strained against the vines, snapping enough for him to drop back to the ground. Grabbing the broken vines, Thunderbird let out a mighty yell as he was able to yank the tree connected to it from the Earth itself. “Any suggestions, fearless leader?” he asked, throwing the tree off into the distance.

“Not really. I think you’ve got this down, Thunderbird.” Cyclops replied, slicing through vines faster than they could reach out for him, then slicing their source tree in half.

Their attackers handled, Scott and John stood still, looking around for more threats and keeping a careful ear out. After several minutes passed with no movement, the two let out a held breath.

“I hate the jungle,” John sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You’re not alone,” Scott agreed, wishing he had gone in with a t-shirt and shorts rather than in full uniform.

The two began to move to the temple again, before Thunderbird held an arm out to stop Cyclops. “Wait... “ Thunderbird began, his head tilted slightly to one side, “Do you hear that?”

Nothing.

“...not even a bird.” Cyclops felt unnerved at that. It was something he hadn’t noticed the first time around: a tropical jungle devoid of life beyond that which was Krakoa.

“I hate the jungle.” Thunderbird nodded in agreement before they began their hike again.

* * *

Cyclops and Thunderbird made it to the temple at the center of Krakoa first, which Scott had also chosen as the rendezvous point during the mission briefing. Sitting on the steps of the temple, Scott Summers took the chance to decompress his brain while Thunderbird sharpened a knife he’d taken with him and stored in a boot sheath. Scott couldn’t help but take a moment, finally, and wonder if this was actually real.

The problem with being slightly neurotic and introspective as Scott tended to be is that Scott Summers had a ton of time to think back and wonder how different life could have been if he’d made a different choice here, or taken a left when he went right instead. The first time he truly noticed it was when Thunderbird himself had actually died, and his angst over the man’s passing left him a wreck for a day and a half. Now, it could be different.

Somehow, it felt like he was in that old Bill Murray movie, the one with the Groundhog.

“I never asked for all of this, you know,” Scott finally spoke up, his eyes closed as he let the sun fall on his face. He’d pulled the hood of his costume back and separated his visor from it to let some heat escape his body before he overheated.

“Really?” John looked at Scott like he’d just admitted he was an elephant in disguise, “You’re a natural, then, Bossman.”

Scott scoffed as he rested an arm on his upraised knee, “I was a scared kid, only 15 and orphaned. I don’t remember much of my time before the Professor found me,” and Scott was telling the truth here. Thanks to Sinister keeping him in a coma and gaslighting him from about age ten and onward, he genuinely was no longer sure what was a legit memory, what was Sinister playing house, and what was an implanted memory, “Imagine it, a skinny malnourished kid forced into a black and yellow costume and told that he can save the world if he tries hard enough.” He paused, “Oh. And training time was a bunch of buzz saws, massive boulders, and any other kind of deathtraps a good James Bond villain would think up.”

Silence met him, so Scott continued, “And for the first mission, of course, you’re fighting against the Professor’s old friend, who controls magnetism, and planned to hold the nukes of Cape Citadel hostage until the US Government surrendered to him.”

“Sounds like a peach.” Thunderbird replied, sheathing the knife once more while keeping an eye out for any movement from the jungle, “How’d you win?”

“We didn’t.” Scott explained, shrugging, “The fight took out the base almost entirely, though Magneto throwing every single ground-to-air missile at us didn’t help.” Cyclops let his head hang low as he let out a breath, “We fought others, like mutant supremacists Factor Three, robots dedicated to killing all mutants, a guy who could Mimic other mutant powers, the Professor’s step-brother…” A pause, and he laughed loud, “Oh, and some jackass who was also a were-pterodactyl when he absorbed mutant powers.”

Thunderbird plopped down beside Cyclops and laughed, “Seriously?”

Cyclops looked to Thunderbird with a grin, “You have no idea. The robots were easier to beat.”

“...ok, you got me. How?”

Scott tried his best to keep a straight face, “I talked them into fighting the sun.”

Thunderbird’s laughter could be heard echoing throughout the jungle for miles.


	7. The Island that Talks Like a Man

As the echoes of Thundebird’s laughter finally faded into the recesses of the Krakoan jungle, the other members of the X-Men began to show up at the rally point. Storm and Colossus showed up first, looking relatively no worse for the wear. Wolverine and Banshee were second, with the two seeming to share some sort of secret agent tips between them. Third and last were Nightcrawler and Sunfire, with Shiro still being standoffish as ever.

Looking at the reassembled team, Scott nodded to the group as he stood up from the temple’s steps, “Let me guess,” he began, noticing Wolverine’s costume looked worse for the wear, “The island, or something on it, tried to kill you all at some point?”

“Giant crabs,” Banshee spoke up, his Irish brogue unable to hide his contempt for the seafood acting up, “Luckily Logan here’s got come claws of his own. I was tempted to have a bit of a barbeque, but we are running on a time limit.”

“The elements themselves tried killing us,” Ororo Munroe added, looking at Piotr in a new light, “The very mountain fell against us, nearly crushing us had Colossus not put himself in harm’s way and the rocks weak against my winds.”

“Birds.” Shiro muttered, not speaking another word.

Nightcrawler spoke up for him instead, “What our dear shy boy is trying to say is that the vibrant birds that populate our corner of the island tried turning us both into a pair of Hitchcock film victims.” Nightcrawler gestured grandly to Sunfire and grinned, his white teeth reflecting brightly against his dark blue skin, “However, Shiro here was able to protect us both with his burst of flame  that turned the birds into so much KFC. I merely wish we had a bucket to take the birds with us for everyone.”

Scott couldn’t help but grin at Nightcrawler’s banter. Shame that Shiro didn’t appreciate it, bristling at Nightcrawler's compliments and banter. Once again, Scott didn’t mind. After all, it was remarkably unlikely that Shiro would stick around, the man was so antisocial that Scott actually believed the rumor that Sunfire had made his own team, just to quit before it was announced to the world.

Turning to the temple, Scott put his hands on his hips, “Good work, people. Now, quick crash-course lesson for being an X-Man. We’ve got a massive temple showing up in the middle of nowhere, an island doing its best to kill us off, and kidnapped X-men.” He turned back to the team after walking up the rest of the steps, “Show of hands: who thinks this is a trap?”

Everyone’s hands shot up into the air. Even Colossus looked like he wondered why this obvious question was being asked.

“Good, glad to see you’ve got more smarts than I did when I started this job,” Cyclops grimaced, both thankful for his team and embarrassed he felt the need to ask, “Now. We’ve got a temple locked from the inside,” Scott paused to pat on the stone slabs acting as a door for the temple, “Any ideas?”

Storm’s hand went up again as she removed her headdress, “I was able to keep a series of lockpicks on myself, and am well versed in their use.” Ororo paused at the odd glance from Sean Cassidy and explained, “In my wayward youth, until I met the Professor in Cairo many years ago, I was a thief. I have since mended my ways,” she smiled as she put the headdress back on, “But old habits do die hard.”

“Aye,” Sean nodded, a grin on his face, “I may not be part of Interpol anymore, thanks to the time that someone brainwashed me into being a villain, but I still keep a gun on me at all times.

Scott blinked. That was new, wasn’t it? Or, shamefully, had Scott just never noticed for the time Sean was on the team? Something to note for later.

The burly Piotr spoke up, his voice shy and soft as he did, “Why… do we just not punch said door down? Take people inside by surprise, and also ensure we have safe way out?”

“Sounds good to me.” Logan agreed, patting the Russian on the back.

Scott nodded, “To be honest, that’s kind of the X-Men’s MO. If there isn’t a door, make one.” He paused, deep in thought for a second, “In retrospect, that might be part of why the people hate and fear us.”

Colossus bulked up into his armored form as he joined Cyclops up the stairs. Cracking his metal knuckles, Colossus wound back and delivered a mighty blow to the stone door. The stone splintered, but did not budge. Cyclops, Sunfire, and Storm all joined Colossus in the next assault, a barrage of metal fists, intense heat, lightning, and kinetic energy from a dimension made of said power all rocked the door into mere rubble before them. As the dust and smoke cleared from the air, Scott’s heart leapt up into his throat. While he’d known about this on a mental level, he still wasn’t fully emotionally prepared for what he saw.

Jean.

From his perspective, she’d been dead for the better part of a decade. But before that, the two had spent literal decades together in one of the most convoluted relationships he’d ever heard of. Then again, when your family tree literally involved time travel _for the source of your last name_ , this wasn’t entirely unexpected. He and Jean had toyed with dating up to this point, never truly hooking up, but both treating the other like they were really the only one for them anyhow. But then the Phoenix had happened, and Scott had proposed to a cosmic entity that was masquerading as her. And then married the clone of Jean, Maddie. As if this wasn’t convoluted enough, Jean came back and Madelyn’s death when _hell literally broke loose on Manhattan_ forced all of Maddie’s and the Phoenix’s memories into Jean’s mind.

It sounded like a bad comic.

But that was all in the past. Future. It hadn’t happened yet. Being able to remove one of the worst days of his life was within his fingertips, but was it better to let Phoenix take over and die on the moon? What about this time’s Emma? Would Jean begin to understand if his heart now belonged to another? God. This was going to keep him up at night.

All of his thoughts and memories collided together, crashing into a mental trainwreck of colossal proportions. And it all took less than a second.

Jean, as well as the other X-Men from the first mission to Krakoa were alive, as Scott had always known. They were all strung up on a wall of vines and tentacles, suckers attached to key points of their bodies. There was still life to Scott’s adopted family, and the unobservant eye could see things like Angel’s wings twitching or the vines attached to Bobby Drake slowly freezing over as he tried to unconsciously free himself.

“Dear god,” Scott rasped, his voice thick with emotion as he moved to Jean immediately as he began to step over the vines on the floor, “It’s my team.”

“And something is feeding on them, friend Scott!” Colossus gasped in shock.

Scott didn’t reply, using his optic blast to begin cutting Jean down from her leafy prison. As she fell to the ground, Scott caught his lover in his arms. She was still unconscious, and couldn’t help himself from running a hand along her cheek. Finally remembering where and when he was, Scott turned to the others, “Get them down, but be careful.”

Within seconds, Angel, Polaris, Havok, and Iceman were all freed, each being held by another member of the X-Men as everyone began to leave the temple. As they all left the temple, however, the ground itself began to quake. The temple collapsed into so much rubble behind them, the first of the original X-Men began to stir.

“Scott…?” the Angel let out a low groan as his wings began to stretch for the first time in what felt like ages. Warren Worthington the III lurches to his feet as Storm let him try to stand on his feet alone,  “Why’d you come back for us?”

“You’re my family,” Scott shrugged, answering honestly once more, “I’m not about to leave any of you trapped by some monster pretending to be an island.”

Angel let out a laugh despite the situation, “The Professor figured it out that fast, huh?”

The ground began to shake again as the other four X-Men began to wake up. Slowly, a mound of dirt began to rise above their heads, taking shape to look remarkably like what Scott remembered as the Man-Thing from the swamps of the Florida Everglades. However, the howling maw and sharp fangs instantly told anyone familiar with the Man-Thing that this was no kindly creature.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Scott replied as everyone watched Krakoa rise up in a beastly form above them, “I had to be sent back for a reason, and it was remarkably unlikely that all of us would be assaulted when we landed as we did.”

Admittedly, he also knew it because this had happened before. But he wasn’t about to get into that now.

“You came to find a mutant,” Nightcralwer muttered to himself in German-accented English, “But the mutant is the entire island itself!”

Scott winced as images flooded his mind as it did the others beside him. A island resting in the Pacific Ocean, only to be blasted by multiple early atomic tests. The radiation unleashed an unknown side-effect, tying the minds of any living creature into a massive hivemind. The radiation that permeated the ground was enhanced by this hivemind, until the very island itself became a living organism itself. However, the land grew hungry, and it could feel the faint powers of other mutants on distant shores. Emitting a signal to the “legless one,” it tricked Professor X into sending a first course: the X-Men.

[And now we shall hunger no longer.]

The voice echoed in Scott’s mind. Scott knew that this should be the Professor’s voice, that this was Professor X pretending to be a super-intelligent landmass to trick the X-Men in an convoluted plan to hide the use and demise of a second team. But it never felt like the Professor, and it didn’t here either. Is it possible the Professor was still manipulated by Krakoa? Questions for later.

The time for explanations has past. The island boomed at everyone, the ruby red eyes on its avatar glowing with a bright pink, Now it is time for Krakoa to feed!

Pink energy lanced out, destroying the very ground on which the X-Men stood. Scott gave the order to scatter, but only a few of his expanded team chose to listen. Wolverine charged headlong at the mound of dirt, vegetation, and stone with a _snikt_.

“If you folks wanna flee, that’s fine by me.” Logan jumped at the arm of the island, slashing with his claws, “But the Wolverine aims to draw first blood!”

Jean pulled away from Scott in time to prevent a tree from crushing either one of them, stopping the blow with her mind as the two escaped. The X-Men continued to fight on, shooting bolts of solar energy, lances of lightning, directed sonic booms, and even ripping the ground apart with their bare hands. Scott could feel the Professor watching, monitoring the island in the corner of his mind the Professor could still access. This was spiraling out of his control, but it was also literally going exactly how he remembered.

“Jean!” Scott cried out to his one-time love, a germ of an idea forming, “Aside from us thirteen, and the island, do you sense any other minds here? Anyone lost, any sailors who got shipwrecked here?”

Jean’s hands touched to her forehead as Scott gave her cover. Her mind reached out into the depths of Krakoa’s own, into the ground to feel for others. After several seconds, she shook her head, “No. None here, Scott.”

Cyclops frowned deep. He knew that Vulcan and Darwin were here, alone and alive. However, Darwin’s powers of survival must have blended Vulcan and himself too well with the ground beneath their feet. Maybe it would be another two decades before he could see this brother again for the first time. It would be better this time around, if he still awoke, but it looks like an early reunion would be out of the question.

“Krakoa!” Scott shouted at the island that walked like a man, “You know us and our powers. Let us go free, and we will let you go undisturbed! Our leader, the legless one we call Xavier, he can help you learn to control your hunger, to move yourself across the seas to a location where you can rest in peace!”

The island slowed, still fighting off the attacking X-Men. The head of the avatar turned to Cyclops, its ruby gemstone eyes focusing on him. The mouth closed to a thin (relatively) line, seeming to think. The island’s avatar began to shrink in stature, reducing itself down to a nearly human-sized creature. The other X-Men, noticing the change, ceased their attacks for the moment.

[Krakoa does not like being alone.] It spoke again, the island’s hivemind speaking to put the complex emotions a hivemind contained for the first time in its existence, [But Krakoa does not like being disturbed either.]

Scott’s mind was racing. There was a chance to change history here… and for the better.

“There’s a place you may be able to move to, one day.” Cyclops began to explain, taking a step towards the still-towering mass of ground, “Muir Isle. The weather is horrible, I admit, but you could thrive there. It’s rarely inhabited, and while the owner Moira may wish to study you, you could still live there in peace if you wished.” He paused, adding, “The facilities on the island are all powered by geothermal energy, which you could tap into to feed.”

And potentially drain the excess powers of Moira’s son, Kevin. Or Proteus, as almost anyone else knew him as.

Krakoa looked deep in thought once more, then spoke. [Tell the legless one to stop reaching into Krakoa’s mind without permission. The simplistic nature of his mind… it hurts us.]

Scott nodded, hoping the Professor was hearing him, “He means well, I promise.”

Krakoa’s avatar began to slowly lower into the ground, speaking once more, [Krakoa now knows where the Isle of Muir is. Krakoa will… visit in time. The one-eyed one has given Krakoa much to think about.] The Island’s avatar waived its hand and the island grew deadly quiet, but without menace, [Call your transport. Krakoa will trouble you no longer.]

“Thank you,” Cyclops bowed slightly at the island, though he couldn’t say why. It just felt right.

[We will speak again, this time on Krakoa’s terms.] The island promised as the last of its avatar fell into disuse, vanishing into the dirt.

Scott’s mind was racing like mad. It worked. The Professor may not have entirely been at fault for the fate of his other brother’s X-Men team. Was he in an altered timeline already? It wasn’t like that was an unfamiliar concept, seeing how his daughter from an alternate timeline had already done that to him and Jean to help raise his son Cable. He was beginning to get a migraine, but the pain was almost worth it.

There was something else he wanted to do, though. Once they were back home, once the original X-Men chose to leave, _if_ they chose to leave, Scott wanted to ask Warren about getting into the Hellfire Club.

Jean stumbled, as if something was hitting her upside the head. She let out a low groan, one hand going to her forehead. Those emerald green eyes snapped open, looking instantly to Scott. They bored into his very soul, and Scott felt his heart skip a beat as he looked into hers for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Scott,” Jean spoke slowly, as if still processing everything, “Who’s Emma?”


	8. Confronting the Future's Past

Scott found himself sitting on the shores of Krakoa, staring at the beach as the sea slowly lapped at the shore. It was very relaxing, but did absolutely nothing to ease the stress and tension filling up his soul. To be entirely fair, the feeling was welcoming and comforting, like an old friend who had vanished for a few days before returning in a worse state. Sort of like Logan, in that respect. Cyclops’ knees were pulled up to his chest, and he simply sat there, his mind not entirely blank.

After all, Jean was still there.

“Scott?” Jean asked, looking down on him from where she stood next to him, “What happened? Was this Krakoa’s doing?”

The ‘this’ she was referring to was the ever-so-familiar psychic rapport that Scott and the Phoenix had developed while the cosmic being was masquerading as Jean. The link had supposedly been severed when she died on the moon, but was restored when the real Jean had been revived and later imbibed with the memories of her clone and her cosmic… well, clone was still the right word to use. Of course, the link had once more been cut when Magneto had killed Jean by forcing an embolism in her using a massive EMP, and that seemed to be that. Even when a young version of Jean had been brought back from the grave, the link stayed dead.

Unfortunately, it looks like whatever made the link in the first place had no problems whatsoever creating a massive paradox by re-linking Scott with Jean once they were in a close enough proximity with one another. The very moment Jean had said the name Emma, Scott’s mind was tossed into turmoil.

He’d given orders to have the X-Men, with Krakoa’s permission, set up a campsite for the night and bond together. It was an idea that Scott had thought of doing anyhow, trying to let the two disparate X-teams come together over a campfire and dinner. After giving the order, Scott had wandered off to be alone, finding himself sitting on a rock at the beach. It hadn’t taken Jean long to find him, he sheepishly had to admit. Maybe Scott had just wanted privacy for the discussion to come.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Scott let out a deep sigh, and he felt Jean’s curiosity in the back of his mind, “Emma is… Emma is someone I’d grown close to over the last decade.”

“What, since you were nine?” Jean raised an eyebrow, her voice filled with confusion as she could feel him telling the truth. Sitting down next to her on-again-off-again boyfriend, she looked into his ruby quartz covered eyes, “Scott. Start from the beginning.”

Scott let out a shuddering sigh. And began to tell Jean everything. It wasn’t like he could hide things from her in the first place. Scott admitted he himself was a horrible liar unless there was some sort of truth embedded within in, and Jean knew him better than anyone else right now.

“I died, 26 years from now.” Scott started, “There was this whole thing with the Inhumans and a gas that empowered them but killed us, and I was caught in the wake of it. Emma was there with me, and I think she somehow sent me back in time. To now.”

Jean absorbed this information, her link with Scott telling her that either he believed this, or this was 100% true. After a few seconds, she removed the yellow mask she’d been wearing, placing it down by her side, and asked, “And me, Scott?”

“You…” Scott paused, looking for the right words, “You died, a few years back. Magneto hit you with a powerful magnetic pulse, which caused an aneurysm that struck you down. At least, that’s how Hank described it.”

Jean looked down at the water as well, leaning on Scott’s shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Scott wrapped an arm around Jean slowly, “Don’t be. The whole thing was horrible, with Magneto pretending to be a Chinese mutant named Xorn, who had a black hole for a head, and taking something called Kick that amped up his powers and…” Scott laughed, feeling what little stability he’d taken in life falling, “Honestly, the whole thing almost feels like a fever dream.”

“And Emma?”

Scott grimaced, “She had joined the team a few months prior. She acted as a therapist to many of us, as well as helping on multiple missions. We…” he paused, unsure of how to continue.

“You slept with her?"

“In the mindscape, yes.” Scott confirmed. He didn’t feel Jean tense up, nor did he feel any anger or rage coming from their link, “You died before I could make a decision between the two of you, and it ate at me for a while.”

Jean and Scott watched the waves continue for what felt like an eternity. Scott could feel Jean testing out their psychic link, pushing up against some of the barriers he had in his mind and feeling her way around others. He didn’t blame her - the link was old hat and nostalgic to Scott at this point.

“And this… this link?” Jean asked as her probing slowed to a stop, “Did I make this?”

Scott shrugged, “Mostly. You had been powered up at the time, and it stayed no matter what happened to us.” Scott felt laughter bubble up again as he added, “Except for the time my body was bound to the soul of an ancient mutant who was determined to use our bloodline to make himself the ultimate mutant.”

“What.”

Scott could feel the weight of his choices ease up slightly, “You didn’t give up on me, though.” He ended the explanation there, feeling it was enough. Scott began to uncurl his body, now more into a sitting position than a fetal one. It felt good to get this off his chest. While he’d obviously spoken with Logan a lot on their plane flights, actually being able to speak to Jean about the actions he’d taken and the choices made with Emma felt… relieving. Better than therapy, though he did question the steps taken to get to this point.

“So I suppose I have some competition, then,” Jean curled close to Scott, planting a kiss on one cheek, “If not from this Emma, then from this ancient force who sounded determined to have you.”

“You’re… taking this awfully well,” Scott observed as Jean moved around him on the ground.

Jean shrugged, her long red hair bouncing as it fell off her shoulder, “The future isn’t written yet, no matter how much advanced knowledge you might have, Scott.” Jean was facing Scott now, on her hands and knees while he sat, “From what you’re telling me, either one of us could find another partner, or die and leave the other to heartbreak.” A smirk fell across her face as she crawled to him, “Well, if that’s the case, then I want to make damned sure you stay with me.”

Scott, not the best at interpersonal relationships, was confused at to what Jean might be hinting at. Until he felt the telekinetic tug of her powers at his costume, anyhow.

* * *

Some distance away, the new and old X-Men were gathered around a small campfire. Eleven different souls, all gathered by one older man with a dream. While that dream for mutant equality might be a foolish one by almost any standard, at least half of the team did believe in it.

“And then the Professor mindwiped the poor guy into forgetting everything,” Bobby Drake, the Iceman, explained as he finished up a tale of the X-Men’s first villain: The Vanisher. Story done, the Iceman picked up a skewer from the fire Thunderbird had made, enjoying some freshly cooked fish.

“I really wish the Professor would have found another way,” Warren Worthington the III expounded as he finished his own fish, frowning as he flexed his still-stiff wings, “Taking away a person’s mind… I just can’t support that.”

Bobby nodded back, “I get it was to keep us secret, but it was going way too far.”

Thunderbird let out a grumpy sound, crossing his arms as he did so, “Bossman never told me about that, about his Professor. I’m beginning to understand why.”

“The Professor is just as human as any of us,” Bobby turned to the massive Native American to speak, “I think he… he just made a bad call.”

“The Professor does seem like a kind man,” Ororo observed, finally putting her thoughts into words, “But all these stories from you make him seem like just that: a man. We all do make mistakes, and those with great power have a tendency to make even greater ones.”

“Not a fan of him faking his death neither,” Logan spoke up, his omnipresent face mask having been removed to reveal the much older man beneath, “At least be honest with your students, Chuck.”

Silence fell over the party, and a gloomy attitude seemed to hit the older students hard. Bobby hung his head low as he remembered how Charles had been kind of an ass overall, while Warren’s feathers bristled at how Xavier had faked his death. Polaris and Havok had been less affected by Charles’ method of teaching, but nevertheless felt a similar level of angst.

“The Professor seemed like a nice enough man to me,” Colossus spoke up finally, poking at the flames with a stick, “I will give him a chance.”

The others were left with their own thoughts for the time being, as the sun finally set beyond the horizon.


	9. What does one do with 13 X-Men?

It begins with an ending, and perhaps the breaking of a heart. This man’s heart, belonging to Professor Charles Xavier. Such a little thing, really. But sometimes, those little things can be the hardest to bear.

The X-Men, both new and old, had spent the night on Krakoa mostly unevenfully. It did not go unnoticed that their fearless leader and Marvel Girl had gone missing during dinner, but generally everyone felt tactful enough not to bring it up that morning. Logan had been less subtle about it, giving Cyclops an elbow nudge and a smirk when he caught Scott staring at Jean while they packed up camp. It had also been a pretty calm flight back home, with a pretty jovial mood filling the admittedly cramped Strato-Jet. Once the X-Men had landed at the Xavier school grounds, though, the mood did turn slightly sour for a few of the teams.

Professor X had called everyone to his study, a massive room just big enough to hold all thirteen X-Men. The massive windows had the curtains drawn, pulling in the afternoon light to make the room feel cozy rather than a disused room in a mansion too big for its occupants. Xavier overlooked his pupils with pride as he began to speak.

“I called you here, my X-Men, because there’s something I would like to tell you all,” He paused, mentally projecting an image of the island Krakoa into the room, “I am proud of you, my X-Men. Both new and old. Krakoa, the Island that Walks like a Man, is a formidable foe, and all of you handled yourselves brilliantly.” The Professor looked to Cyclops as he continued, “Some more unconventionally than I expected, I admit, but still brilliantly.” Charles wheeled himself in a circle to look at everyone, then continued, “Now, as to the future…”

Here we go, Scott thought to himself.

“As to the future, Professor,” Shiro interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest, “It is a future that does not include Sunfire.”

Charles looked hurt as he turned his gaze on Shiro Yamada, “Shiro, I don’t understand. I thought you’d agreed to help us.”

“Once, Professor.” Shiro was as clipped as always, “And once was enough. I did not ask to be attacked by something out of an old Godzilla movie, frankly.” Shiro began to move out of the room, pushing past Storm and Colossus without acknowledging them, “My duty is to my country, and to its people. I care nothing for the world that you offer, Xavier. I want none of it, and none of this X-Men.”

Xavier looked down in thought, frowning as he nodded, “You are free to do as you wish, Shiro. We will not keep you.”

“Then Sunfire bids you farewell!” Sunfire flew out the door and began rambling as he flew away, quickly out of earshot. No one was able to pick up what he said beyond that, though the Professor could still hear his thoughts as Shiro left for Japan the long way.

Wolverine scoffed, “What a dick.”

“He’s always been like that,” Scott said, explaining everything in a few words, “I think his face would break if he smiled.”

Professor X turned to his new mutants and looked at them all, “Do any of the rest of you echo the thoughts of Shiro?”

Storm looked deep in thought before speaking, “I say we stay together. It has been only three days at most, and three days are nothing.” Storm smiled demurely as she decided for herself, “I am intrigued by the Professor’s offer, and I will stay.”

“What the hell.” Logan shrugged after Storm finished, “I’ve got no problems. It sure beats waiting to be told to fight more Wendigo or another Hulk. I’m not looking forward to another fight with ol’ Jade Jaws.”

Colossus simply said nothing, but nodded to Xavier that he would be staying as well.

Thunderbird laughed at the Professor’s question derisively, “Do you think I’d turn down the best chance a kid from the rez has for making something out of their life?”

“And you, Banshee?” Professor turned to the gold and green clad older man, who was currently playing with his stereotypically Irish white wooden pipe, “Will you go or stay, Sean?”

“I won’t lie to you, Professor,” the Irishman answered as he looked at his pipe like it held the answers of the universe, “I like it here, complete truth. I won’t lie to myself, though. All of your X-Men are kids, students of yours.”

“I’m 21.” Scott interrupted, feeling amused at Sean’s excuse.

“And I’m 32.” Logan added in, playing with his own cigar.

“I’m a barely-literate ex-cop.” Banshee continued undeterred.

“Ex-Interpol.” Xavier interrupted, equally amused, “And I saw you eyeing the library earlier, sir.”

“And like it or not,” Sean struggled to keep his laughter from interrupting his train of thought, “There’s some grey in this Banshee’s golden hair. It’s been a grand old time, but it’s time I was moving on.”

Xavier let out a hearty laugh, “Rubbish, Sean! Your hair is about as grey as mine is, and I’ll bet your mind’s more keen than mine ever was.” A smirk came across his face as he continued, “However, if these young people are simply too much for you…”

Sean Cassidy finally let his mirth show, “Now I didn’t say that, now did I? Since when has Sean Cassidy ever turned down a challenge?” He paused, deep in thought for a few moments before shrugging and holding out his hand to the Professor, “All right, Professor. I’m sold. You’ve got yourself a brand new X-Man.”

Xavier shook his hand gratefully, “Excellent, my friend. Now that this has been settled…”

An awkward silence came over the room as Warren Kenneth Worthington the III stepped forward, “Actually… I’m afraid it hasn’t been settled, Professor.”

“Warren?” Xavier asked, turning to one of his first students, “What do you mean, lad?”

Scott frowned, knowing exactly what was going to happen. He’d hoped that having the campout would have improved relations with the old and new team, preventing any stryfe or trouble. In fact, Scott would have loved to enact the Gold and Blue team format back now if possible. Of course, there just wasn’t enough time to convince everyone to stay.

“There just isn’t an easy way to say this, sir.” Warren sighed heavily, his wings drooping, “The old X-Men. We’re out.”

Xavier looked like someone had just run over his cat by crashing the Strato-Jet into it, “You’re… what?!” He looked to the old guard in shock, “But… why? All of you made the same decision?”

Warren continued his line of thinking, “We were children when you took us in, sir. Scared and unsure as to who we were, what was happening to us. You taught us, and helped us realize our full potential… and you helped us grow up, too.” He threw up his hands, “But that’s it: we’ve grown up. We’re not kids anymore, Professor. We all have our own lives to live now.”

Wolverine looked like he was about to speak, but Cyclops stepped forward instead. He’d pulled his hood back and replaced his visor with the ruby quartz glasses instead.

“Actually… I want to propose something.” Scott spoke up, holding up a hand to try and halt what could have been about three different arguments at once, “Professor, Warren’s right. We’re not kids anymore. But that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re done here, either.” Scott took a deep breath and smiled softly as he felt Jean grab his hand to reassure him, “I think we should make this a real, actual school. We can start small, of course, but those of us who wouldn’t mind staying could stay not as X-Men… but as teachers.”

Bobby’s eyes actually seemed to light up at that suggestion, but Warren crossed his arms and frowned.

“What,” the Angel scowled slightly, “Introduce more people to the Professor’s Murder Room and shove knowledge into their heads at night?”

“Warren,” Charles looked hurt at the accusation, even if it was pretty much dead-on, “I never meant it like that.”

Scott stepped toward Warren, “I get where you’re coming from. More than anyone else here, I really do.” He looked to the other old guard, his friends and family, “But I think we can do something better here. We can bring in mutants who are scared, who are in troubled families, who could very well die out there without us. Train them, teach them to be people first and X-Men second... “ he looked to Warren, and then the Professor, “If they want to be them at all.”

There was a long pause, and everyone seemed to be mulling over the suggestion. The younger X-Men sat on the sidelines, most of them too young and inexperienced to be teachers, while Logan couldn’t help but remember some of the things that Scott had told him about on the plane. Things yet to come.

“Hnn.” Wolverine grunted, scratching at his chin, “I wouldn’t mind a chance to leave a positive mark on people for once.”

“We’d hire actual teachers, right?” Bobby tossed in his two cents, “I mean, we could be there as counselors or trainers, but there’s no way I can teach without a college degree. The New York School Board would flay us alive.”

Scott nodded to Bobby, “That was my idea. It’s not like the Professor can’t screen teachers to see who may or may not be qualified in their attitudes to mutants,” Cyclops shrugged, “And besides, I think it could be a good way to make the world view mutants as a positive force, as teachers rather than just a self-police force or terrorists.”

Xavier seemed deep in thought, both wondering if he was ready to open the school once again and wondering just where his closed-off pupil had come up with these ideas. Not that they were bad ones, but it was almost like Scott was just a more confident person after the first Krakoa incident. Doubts aside, though, Xavier couldn’t help but feel proud at the suggestion Scott had made, and a little embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it first.

“Since you seem to have thought so much of this out, do you have anyone in mind?”

Scott grimaced slightly, feeling Jean giggle in his head as he spoke up, “More or less…”

* * *

The Hellfire Club’s main building in New York was an unassuming building, just another old brick building among many, just four blocks away from Avengers Mansion. However, Scott more than knew what awaited him inside. Scott was dressed in his proverbial Sunday best, in the same forest green suit he’d worn in Canada. Warren was to his left, having strapped his wings down as usual and wearing his favorite power suit. Jean was to his right, having chosen a fetching suit with a skirt at the knees.

As the three moved passed the Hellfire Club’s door security, Scott walked up to help who greeted the trio. His two friends moved behind him, flanking him while keeping an eye out for security. Scott grinned as casually as he could, coming off as more than a little awkward.

“Hi, there,” Scott introduced himself to the staff who greeted the three, “We’re here to see Emma Frost, we have an appointment?”


	10. Paying Tribute to the (White) Queen

It was an ordinary Tuesday evening at the Hellfire Club. A few guests had already shown up and were in attendance in the main ballroom. As per the standard dress code for the Hellfire Club, most of the regulars were in period clothing from the 1700s with a more modern flair to the outfits. Scott could see one or two who had replaced the more traditional leggings with a recent fashion trend, Zubaz. It instantly brought a wave of nostalgia to Scott Summers’ brain, seeing those ridiculously colorful zig-zag skintight leggings that epitomized the late-80s and early-90s.

Of course, seeing those leggings alongside dark wool jackets, vests of a more normal color scheme, and powdered wigs tended to make the entire ensemble look like something out of a time traveler’s nightmare.

The others attending were often famous people trying to have a good time without being seen, and Scott could swear he noticed Bill Murray hiding in one corner telling a few jokes to others in attendance. Most everyone had more modern styles of dress to match himself, Warren, and Jean. A harpsichord could be heard playing off in the distance, though Scott could swear it was playing something modern. It was a tune that teased at one of the corners of his brain, though he’d probably remember it later when it wasn’t necessary.

One of the underlings who had offered to take the coats of Warren and Jean, and had done so, motioned for Scott Summers to follow him to a side room. Scott followed, but two bouncers dressed in hilarious tight leggings in day glo colors and menacingly large shoulder pads under their jackets moved to block Warren and Jean from following their leader.

“Scott!” Jean cried out as the doors began to close behind him.

Scott winked at Jean through his glasses, which he knew she could feel through their link, and motioned that it would be ok.

* * *

Scott walked up several flights of stairs, more than he figured could have been held inside a building as old as this. Maybe the Hellfire Club bled into the nearby skyscraper. It wouldn’t have surprised him. Still, the corridors changed dramatically in style as he passed. The initial ones were that same sort of faux-1700s style that the main ballroom of the Hellfire Club had, but they eventually gave way to a more metallic and modern theme. It almost felt like he was back at the mansion’s sub-basements, actually.

Finally, the butler stood in front of a pair of double doors with a white chess piece emblazoned on the front. Scott recognized it as the White Queen. Emma. Scott’s calm wavered slightly as memories with her flooded back into his conscious mind. Almost all of them were either in combat, or during sex. Thankfully, most of the latter weren’t coming to the front of his head. The doors shuddered open and darkness welcomed Scott.

“What, you expect me to walk into a trap?” Scott looked to the butler next to him, raising an eyebrow.

The Butler looked at Scott and raised an eyebrow. He spoke with a really bad British accent, like someone trying to play off a cockney accent having seen Mary Poppins once, “Miss Frost isn’t one to play games, Mister Summers. She requested the room be set like this for you.”

“Oh.” Scott replied, laughing softly, “So she’s playing games. Sounds like Emma all right.”

With that, Scott walked into the room and wasn’t shocked when the doors shut behind him.

* * *

Scott stumbled in the darkness for a few seconds, but found himself a wooden chair. Bumbling slightly, Scott sat down. It was a distinctly uncomfortable chair, one that Scott himself would have chosen for interrogations when he and Emma were leading the school together. The silence in the room was also deafening, but it wasn’t anything Scott couldn’t handle. The Professor had made him go through similar enhanced interrogation techniques and sensory deprivation during the old X-Men days.

In retrospect, Charles Xavier was kind of a dick.

Scott could feel Jean’s presence in the back of his head, chuckling at his thoughts. [Scott, everything ok?] Jean asked mentally, and Scott could ‘see’ what was going on at Jean’s end as well.

[Oh, you know.] Scott replied mentally, leaning back in the chair, [Totally black room, wooden chair with no cushions, no sound.] he paused, thinking to himself, [Also, it’s kinda cold in here. Like someone tossed me in the freezer.]

There was a long pause from Jean.

[...do you want help? I can tear this place apart, screw by screw.]

Scott laughed, his voice echoing about the room, [I’m fine, Jean. Remember, Optic Blasts.] In fact, Scott had pulled his spare visor out of his pocket and was in the process of switching them with his glasses right now. It was a coping mechanism for nerves, Scott admitted, but it also made it easier to use said powers if needed.

[Fine, fine.] Jean replied mentally, sounding only slightly huffy that she didn’t have a chance to rip the Hellfire Club to pieces. [I don’t see Mastermind, or someone pretending to be a Jason Wyndgarde, by the way.]

[Good.] Scott nodded to himself, feeling slightly comforted by that. [If this goes well, we won’t need to worry about him. Much.]

A sliver of light grew into a rectangle as a single door slammed open, splashing the room with almost blinding light. Scott’s hand moved by instinct up to the release stud on his visor, ready to blast some goons in Hellfire Club masks. Instead, an outline the man named Cyclops had become overly familiar with greeted him. A larger outline, one that looked like a large fur coat draped over someone’s shoulders. Lithe legs at about knee-high were seen below the cloak, and stiletto heels at her feet.

“God damnit,” Scott could hear Emma curse as she held the door open, “That damned fuse must have blown again. I would apologize, but I don’t feel sorry.”

Scott let out a laugh, a small feeling of relief coming through his body as he heard her voice again. Seeing Jean once more had way, way more of an impact on him, Scott had to admit, but Emma had been an important part of his life for the last several years.

“Hi Emma,” Scott waved at the White Queen of the Hellfire Club nonchalantly from his chair.

Emma stood at the door, blankly staring at Scott Summers. He could feel her mind probing at his own, and coming up against several mental blocks. Emma was certainly weaker than she was in the future, Scott reflected. He felt Emma grow frustrated, hitting a brick wall each time she tried to probe at him. If Scott had wanted, he could let Emma in… but he didn’t want to show off all his cards just yet.

“...who are you?” Emma sounded frustrated, glaring at Scott and drawing her cloak close.

“Scott Summers of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.” Scott introduced himself, letting the wooden chair go forward and land with a clunk as he stopped leaning and stood up. Adjusting his tie slightly, Scott tapped his visor, “Excuse the attire. I was expecting trouble.”

Emma didn’t move, but Scott did notice her hand tightening on the doorknob, “I’ve heard of the school. Last I checked, Charles Xavier was a paraplegic bald man, though. You are…” she paused, looking Scott up and down in the harsh light, “Far more interesting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Frost.” Scott nodded, taking a moment to switch back to his glasses instead, “I have something I’d like to talk to you about, Emma. Do you want to continue speaking here, or somewhere more comfortable?”

Emma let out a ‘hmmph’ as she backed away from the open door, “Please, Mister Summers, follow me.”

Scott obediently followed Emma into her chambers. As his eyes adjusted to more normal lighting, part of him was subtly impressed with what he saw.

[Eyes on the prize, Scott.] Jean chided him as she noticed what he was looking at.

[I meant the room.] Scott told a half-truth, and felt Jean roll her eyes with amusement.

To be fair, he hadn’t expected to see Emma in her full White Queen regalia. White fur collar atop a long bright white cape. Long, thigh-high boots in the same white that hugged Emma’s curves. A tight white corset that pulled the eyes to the center of her chest. White panties. Scott hadn’t really seen Emma in this outfit before much, but remembered hearing about it from Phoenix not long after their first fight. While Emma Frost had worn much more provocative outfits during her time as a teacher at Xavier’s, something about this outfit really caught Scott by surprise.

Now that his brain was focusing on the environment, though, it was surprisingly plain. A pair of fainting couches with a small oak table between them. A fireplace to the left of those tables, and a wet bar on the opposite wall. Scott also saw another set of double doors on the opposite side of the room from him, which must lead to Emma’s more private quarters at the Hellfire Club. Emma walked slowly around the room before sitting down on the black fainting couch.

“Now.” She said, as more of a statement than a question of Scott, “I hear you had a business proposition.”

“Of a sorts,” Scott replied as he sat down on the white couch opposite of Emma. He noticed that there was a tea set between them, steam escaping the spigot of the tea kettle. Forcing himself to look Emma in the eyes, which was only mildly harder than it had ever been, Scott continued, “I know that you have a desire to teach young Mutants, and I have a means to provide it.”

There was a long pause, and Emma’s eyes grew slightly wider at Scott’s words.

“Who the hell _are_ you.” It wasn’t a question this time either.

Scott shrugged, “Scott Summer-”

“No.” Emma interrupted him, sounding almost angry, “I want more than a name and a face, Mister Summers. I’ve yet to encounter a single person who can single handedly block out my own telepathic talents.” Her eyes narrowed at Scott, trying to pierce the ruby quartz between them, “And one who knows my own desires better than my own compatriots.”

Scott leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath, “Well, there’s a reason you can’t break through my defenses.” He paused to tap at his forehead, “You put some of them in there.”

“Bullshit.”

“You will.” Scott explained, feeling Emma push at his brain again. Scott brought a memory to the surface of his mind and let it drift towards Emma’s probe.

_[Don’t you want to inherit the Earth together?] the memory of Emma spoke to them both. A mental image of a graveyard in the autumn, leaves of earthy tones drifting around the two. Scott had been walking away from Emma in this memory, wearing clothes one would choose for a funeral. The memory of Scott paused before turning back to Emma, in thought. [I…] it paused, before coming to Emma and embracing her with a loving kiss, [Yes.]_

Emma jerked backwards as if someone had slapped her. She rubbed at her head, hand fluffing her long, blonde hair as if she was trying to get rid of an itch.

“You… what?” Emma wasn’t confused, outside of the context. It was obvious that it was a memory, and even more obvious that she had literally no memory of that happening.

“That’s from…” Scott paused, thinking,” 2010? You had joined the Xavier School a few months ago, and did a pretty good job of convincing me to stay with the school at the time.”

Emma looked curious, “Twenty years in the future?”

“I came from 2015, actually,” Scott corrected with a shrug, finally admitting the truth, “And I think it was your fault. But that’s not why I’m actually here.”

“You… you want to change the future.” Emma finally began piecing things together, her sky blue eyes piercing Scott’s soul as she spoke.

Scott nodded.

“Interesting.” Emma tapped at her chin, hunched over in thought, having given up on any seduction angle with Scott Summers, “And you only want me to teach young Mutants?”

“Well,” Scott continued, “You’re welcome to join the X-Men in combat, if it tickles your fancy.”

Emma let out a bark of laughter as something clicked in her head, “Charles Xavier and the X-Men. I should have put two and two together much sooner.”

Scott stood up from the fainting couch. He slipped one in his jacket pocket while offering the other one to Emma, “Well? Professor Frost does have a nice ring to it.”

Emma’s blue-lipsticked lips curled in a smirk as she looked up to Scott Summers, “I believe I shall. You pique my interest, Scott Summers.” She stood up, accepting his hand, “But tell that girl in your mind that I just may go after you, too.”

Scott could feel nervous sweat going down the back of his neck as he shook the White Queen’s hand for the first time.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**As you might guess from the lump of chapters being posted here, I've made some headway in the story. I appreciate the Kudos greatly, and really do appreciate the kind comments. I do hope that this is to everyone's liking as the previous chapters were.**


	11. The Supreme Sacrifice

On the streets of New York, the evening had finally begun to arrive. The sun had descended behind the skyline, coloring the city with all the shades of a Bob Ross painting - including a few happy clouds in the distance. The fall air no longer smelled like someone was frying goats, and a nice breeze was now drifting between the alleys as Scott exited the Hellfire Club. Behind him were Warren Kenneth Worthington the III and Jean Grey, his apparently unnecessary escorts and backup for this endeavour. Warren excused himself for a moment to go page his driver at a nearby payphone… which Scott had found rather jarring for a second. He’d grown so used to modern technology that something like a payphone had pretty much gone extinct by 2000, much less 2015.

The Past really is like a foreign country, Scott mused as he remembered the written words of L.P. Hartley. He did, however, fail notice the skeptical look Jean kept giving him.

“So.” Warren finally said after returning from the payphone, “Johnson will arrive in a few moments with the car.” He paused to adjust the cufflinks on his suit, “I’ve asked he take the two of you back to Xavier’s place, and leave the car in your care. I’ll send someone to pick him up as well, no worries.”

“Warren?” Jean quirked her head slightly, “What do you mean? Aren’t you coming back?”

“Not really,” Warren smiled sadly as he shook his head, blonde tresses bouncing as he did so, “I won’t be a part of what the Professor had in mind for a school. Besides, after my Uncle Bertram killed mom and dad, I can’t afford to be running around like a kid in spandex. I’ve got a company to look after.” Looking Scott in the eye, the smile grew a little happier as he clapped the man on the shoulder encouragingly, “Prove me wrong, Scott. You’re almost like the brother I never had, and if anyone was going to change Xavier for the better, it’s you.” He pulled Scott into a big bear hug, “Don’t hesitate to ask me for help, bossman.”

Scott returned the hug, careful not to squeeze too hard, “You too, birdbrain. We’re family, you know?”

Warren nodded back to Scott and pulled away. He pulled Jean’s hand up to his face and planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand, “Take care of him, Jean.”

Jean laughed softly, with a more hysterical laughter echoing in Scott’s mind, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line. Take care, Warren.”

Warren Worthington the III nodded to both his friends and turned away, walking down the late-night New York streets. It wasn’t long before he faded from view, obviously heading down towards Avengers Mansion for the usual Tuesday poker night.

[So,] Jean thought at Scott, sensing some remnants of his apprehension from his meeting with Emma, [Was she as you remember?]

[Colder, actually.] Scott returned, holding Jean’s hand as they waited for the car Warren had called for, [More ambition, but with a temper held back by a desire to prove herself.] A stray thought crossed his mind before he could stop it, [Less clothing.]

Jean teasingly elbowed her beau, [Should I take some fashion tips from her, then? I’ve got a few things in the closet I could pull out.]

Scott flushed horribly, parts of his face turning as red as his optic blasts. Desperate to change the subject, Scott diverted, [Emma’s agreed to see the school on Thursday, actually. She has some prospective students in mind.]

[Oh?] Jean let the subject drop for the moment, a smile crossing her face as Warren’s promised car turned around the corner, [I certainly hope they’re not the next generation of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.]

Scott Shrugged mentally as he opened the door for Jean, [Some of them, we’ve scouted out in my past. Others never came to the school. At least, if her lineup matches what I know.]

A few minutes passed as Johnson drove the car out of the city, in the direction of Westchester. Scott and Jean simply enjoyed one another’s company during the quiet. For Scott, it was like emotionally going back in time on top of physically. Jean had been gone for so long from his life, he realized it had been like he was living without an arm. Emma had been wonderful for him, but entirely different. For Jean, Scott had become almost an entirely different person. Distant in some regards, but more confident. The psychic link hadn’t lost its novelty yet, either, and at times Jean felt like she could lose herself inside Scott.

[Scott?] Jean asked, her eyes closed as she rested on Scott’s shoulder, [What did you do to convince her, anyhow?]

[I shared a mutual memory with her, actually.] Scott explained, watching the scenery pass the car by.

[Which one?]

Scott pulled the memory up again, feeling slightly awkward at sharing something so personal with someone who hadn’t been part of it. The memory played again, experiences entirely foreign playing before Jean’s mental eye. As the memory ended, Jean frowned, a mix of emotions in her mind.

“Scott, you lovable idiot.” she spoke up, pulling away from his shoulder.

“Jean?” Scott blinked in confusion, turning to look at her. He could feel several emotions coming through the link, jealousy and regret being prime ones alongside a twinge of joy.

Jean looked at him, shaking her head, “I won’t be mad about what hasn’t happened. It’s like being mad at you for something you did in a dream.” The woman who would eventually become Phoenix bit at her bottom lip, looking down, “But I think you may have given her entirely the wrong impression.” Upon seeing Cyclops’ blank expression, she continued, “Think about it. A handsome man comes out of nowhere, knows you better than you know yourself, and has unavoidable proof that you’re destined to be with him? Even I’d find it hard to not find myself interested in that man.”

“...oh.” was all Scott could say.

Jean shrugged, trying to push doubts out of her mind, “You’ll make it up to me later, I’m sure.”

Johnson quietly rolled up the privacy window, deciding that this was just rich, crazy person roleplay unfolding in front of him.

\------------------------------------

As the car pulled up to the Xavier school grounds, Scott froze as he saw a heavily damaged Strato-Jet lurching in for a landing.

“Oh no,” Scott understated as he felt a chill run down his spine.

Jean looked to Scott, a question on her face and in her mind.

“I’d forgotten we’d taken an extra day on Krakoa.” Scott muttered to himself, looking at his hands in mild panic, “Our first mission as a team was today. Count Nefaria took over NORAD with his team of Ani-Men. He threatened to launch all of America’s nukes, and the Avengers were out of town. Hank called us up and asked us to step up in their place.”

Jean brushed her hand on Scott’s shoulder, a smile on her face, “But the plane came back, Scott. That means it still went well.”

“John died.”

Jean’s hand froze, pulling back instinctively as the car drew to a stop, “Oh. Scott, I’m so sorry.”

“I got over it,” Scott spoke coldly, already undoing his seatbelt as he threw open the door, “But I had a chance to make things different this time. I wanted…” Scott trailed off as he jumped out of the car and broke into a sprint for the mansion’s secret entrance to the sub-levels.

\------------------------------------

The already slow elevator took an unspeakably long time to descend into the sub-basement of the mansion. From the familiar sounds Scott could make out in the distance, the Strato-Jet had landed and was busy descending into the recesses of the hangar. He couldn’t hear any voices at all, and the implications chilled Scott’s heart. He hadn’t been there to lead his team, and they’d only barely stopped the Doomsmith Scenario the first time around.

I mean, it still counts as saving the world when the Doomsmith Scenario meant Count Nefaria would coat the world in nuclear explosions.

“Professor!” Scott shouted out as he saw his teacher and mentor wheeling over from the Cerebro room to the hangar, “What happened?”

Xavier stopped and spun himself in place to face his student, “Our old foe, Count Nefaria, resurfaced.” Scott waited while Xavier recounted the tale he already knew, “Luckily, Count Nefaria had been stopped, but there were… casualties.”

Scott’s already chilled heart grew ice cold.

The Professor opened the automatic door to the hangar, and he wheeled through, “Come, Scott. They may need our help.”

Swallowing down his fear, Scott moved after the Professor. The Strato-Jet looked like it had seen better days. The left wing was still there, but looked to be missing several sheets of armor. The cockpit’s windscreen was shattered, fixed with some welded glass from another plane cockpit. Scott also got the distinct tang of leaking jet fuel in the air, but didn’t actually see any at the moment leaking from the jet. The rear entry hatch shuddered as it opened, dropping to the ground with a hollow ‘whang.’ Without much fanfare, the X-men emerged.

...laughing? The hell?

Banshee showed up first, walking down the gangplank with Thunderbird’s arm slung over his shoulder. Scott’s heart instantly lightened up as he saw John still alive, but confusion reigned. If John survived, what was so serious? Ororo came out next, with Nightcrawler playfully bantering with her… and Scott could swear he was hitting on her. Iceman (wait, what?) was next, shaking his head as he followed the four in front of him down the ramp. Finally, Colossus emerged, carrying a mostly-naked Wolverine, who was smoking a cigar (and physically smoking).

“Wolverine!” Professor Xavier shouted out in surprise, a wide smile on his face as he wheeled towards the group, “How did you survive the plane crash?”

Scott blinked in surprise, seeing his friend Logan in such a state. Everyone began talking at once, responding to the Professor’s answer all in their own words. The chatter went on and on for several minutes, and Scott found it hard to follow. Finally, Wolverine let out a loud shout to interrupt everyone, climbing out of Colossus’ arms to stand (shakily) on the ground.

“I heal real good.” Logan explained without explaining, winking at Cyclops subtly as he looked at his newfound friend.

“Heal good nothing, lad,” Sean Cassidy laughed, patting Logan on some healed shoulder flesh, “Half your legs were gone! And what about all that metal?”

Wolverine grinned as he dropped the cigar and crushed it under barefoot, “That’s a state secret from Canada, Irish. Sorry, but I can’t talk about it.”

The world swam around Cyclops’ head as relief and confusion flooded his mind. Scott moved to take a step back, only to find himself sitting on the floor rather abruptly. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jean smiling over him.

[So.] Jean teased Scott as she sat down next to him, [Maybe the world doesn’t rest entirely on your shoulders, Slim?]

Taking a breath, and feeling the world steady itself under him, Scott raised a hand, “Excuse me? What the hell happened at NORAD?”

Bobby stepped forward as he de-iced himself, returning to his normal costume, “Well, Nefaria had a team of knockoff X-Men-”

“Ani-Men.” Piotr Rasputin corrected him, “I believe we should be accurate, friend Robert.”

“Fair enough, Pete,” Bobby nodded his way, “But a few ice blocks froze most of them in place. Nefaria went all classic villain on us and set the Doomsmith Scenario to trigger across the world. Half of us set to work ripping the computers to pieces, while Wolverine lead Colossus and Thunderbird over to the the hangar bay.” He paused, stretching an arm, “But I think Wolverine knows the rest better than I do. Me, I just froze the computer until it stopped working.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, “Yes, but you also knew what I should fry to help.” Bobby waived her praise off, trying to avoid the limelight.

“I can continue,” John Proudstar spoke up, looking very much alive, “Nefaria had a jet stored in the hangar, and began to take off. Wolverine looked at Colossus and told him to throw the little runt at the freaking plane.” John laughed at the memory, shaking his head, “Little jerk stuck to the plane like his namesake, and clawed his way up the side of the jet.”

“Then you decided to throw a missile at me.” Logan groused, his face showing more amusement than anything else.

“You’d already survived the Hulk.” John pointed back, a smirk on his face, “And I did warn you to jump off.”

Logan rolled his eyes as he slugged Thunderbird with a weak punch, “At least Nefaria bit the big one. Jerk won’t be coming back from the grave after that.”

Yeah, sure.

Scott let out a held breath, shuddering slightly. Jean hugged him from behind, a smile on her face as Scott leaned into her embrace. Scott had expected a lot of resistance from time itself, like reality forcing itself back into what it had once been. After all, that had happened so many times before, even when his past self had been thrown into the future by a well-meaning Hank McCoy.

Maybe he could fix the world.

Maybe there could be an ending that didn’t end with the Inhumans accidentally causing a massacre.

Maybe.


	12. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

Six months had passed since the Mostly-New, Kinda-Different X-Men had been unveiled to the world. Unlike the past of Scott’s memories, time had unfolded differently. The Xavier mansion was currently undergoing some basic renovations on the main floors. Studies and libraries were being retrofitted into actual classrooms for students, with one wing of the mansion being expanded into co-ed dorms just for the eventual incoming students. Emma had even visited several times, in thankfully more restrained clothing, to provide input and collect a paycheck or two. The seasons had gone from fall to winter, with leaves browning and falling from the tree, eventually being either raked away or covered in snow.

Warren had kept in touch, as he had promised. It mostly came through monthly letters from his misadventures in California with a team called the Champions. Scott remembered seeing them on the news once or twice back in the day, with Bobby and Warren hanging out with an incredibly eclectic group of people and keeping California safe from various evil-doers. This time, Bobby stayed with the school, having found a new place with the team rather than being alienated. Perhaps the allure of being a teacher helped. Still, the Champions had found a replacement with a shiny armored fellow named ROM, and an anthropomorphic duck named Howard.

Sometimes this world was just weird.

Scott was walking down the dorm wing, looking over the construction. It wasn’t remotely finished, and the place felt eerily empty. Unpainted sheetrock and unmounted doors greeted him at almost every turn, but there were still a few touches that reminded Scott of his old home. In this case, the massive second-floor window that ended one of the hallways. It overlooked the basketball court, which was also the secret escape hatch for the Strato-Jet. Scott’s room had been just to the right of this window, and he’d spent several sleepless nights looking into the ruby-tinted night sky.

[Penny for your thoughts?] came a voice in his head from down the hall, one that never failed to bring a grin to Scott’s face.

Jean had also stayed on, of course. Scott turned to look at his flame-haired lover coming down the hallway in his footsteps. Jean was dressed to the nines, wearing a black evening gown that Scott had burned into his mind long, long ago. Dark enough to make the night sky look like day, with long slender sleeves and a hemline that went down to her ankles, the dress seemed tame enough. Jean smiled and did a twirl for Scott as she approached, showing off the dress’ plunging back, going all the way down to her waist.

It was Christmas, 1989.

Scott was wearing his favorite blue suit, and the festivities from the morning had died down around noon. Presents were exchanged, but the team had all decided that it would be best to head out to downtown New York to experience a real “American” Christmas for their international friends. However, he was still wearing his costume’s visor and was even debating cancelling the whole event.

“Scott?” Jean touched his shoulder, and smiled as Scott seemed to relax rather than tense up. She lay her head on his other shoulder, “It’s a future thing, isn’t it?”

Scott smiled sadly, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Phoenix?”

“Yeah.”

Jean frowned, holding Scott close, “Well, to hell what some Cosmic Deity wants, much less the future. I want a nice night with the man I love.”

Laughter escaped Scott’s lips as he finally smiled with something resembling happiness, “To be fair, we’re going to have to fight Sentinels first.”

“I’ll let you handle them, lover,” Jean chuckled as she pulled Scott away from his reminiscing, “Maybe you can talk them into fighting a black hole this time.”

\------------------------

After parking Warren’s donated car, now nicknamed the “X-Mobile” by Kurt, the team of X-Men had dispersed throughout Midtown Manhattan. Logan had vanished to do his own thing, which Scott suspected somehow involved ninjas. The others on the team had decided to start with the Rockefeller Center’s Ice Rink to have some fun before moving on to do some late-night sightseeing. In fact, Bobby was currently dragging John Proudstar down to the ice rink to get him to try ice skating for the first time in his life.

Scott and Jean, though, still had their dinner date at the Rainbow Room. On the 65th floor of 30 Rockefeller Center, the Rainbow Room was an incredibly fancy restaurant with some delightfully retro-inspired decor. A rotating hardwood dance floor from 1957 was still in use, making the dance floor the center of attention in spite of the delightful views out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls. A remarkably impressive crystal chandelier hung over the dance floor, reflecting whatever mood lighting the ceiling lights happened to be using. In fact, it had just been remodeled a few years ago to bring the place back to the aesthetics of 1934, when it first opened.

The Professor had scheduled their Christmas dinner as a 6 month anniversary present for two of his favorite (and, as Scott pointed out, only) pupils. The cost of a place like this was massive in 2015, but no less incredible before it had been declared a historical landmark for New York City. No matter how nice Scott and Jean dressed, Scott was entirely sure they were under-dressed for the occasion, but found he couldn’t remember if they were or not. He’d find out soon enough, with only a few floors on the elevator ride left.

“No news from Alex yet?” Jean asked aloud as the silence in the elevator proved too much to avoid small talk.

Scott shook his head, “None. I know he planned to head out to the west coast to continue researching his dissertation, but…” he shrugged, at a loss.

His brother, the man known as Havok, had actually chosen to leave only a week into the new X-Men team’s formation. Lorna had, of course, gone with him off to God-knows-where. They hadn’t shown up when Erik the Red had confusingly attacked them a few months ago, so lord only knows what was going on with them now.

The small elevator designed for private transport to the Rainbow Room let out a soft ding as it slowed to a stop. Doors opened, and Scott was mentally thrown back in time to the first time he’d lived in 1989. A thrill of excitement caught in his throat, a remnant of when he’d been a lovesick schoolboy trying to catch up with a lost love rather than someone who was nearly 50 in the body of a 21 year old with a remarkably stable love life. Jean left the elevator first, stars in her eyes as she looked around probably the fanciest place she’d ever stepped foot in.

Scott followed Jean quickly. His chest felt tight, but not with pain. He knew they only had a small amount of time left. Scott reached into his suit’s jacket pocket and ran his fingers along the visor hidden within. Good. Still there. As Scott and Jean surrendered their overcoats to the coat room, Scott offered his arm to Jean to walk her to their table.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” Jean asked, looking into Scott’s eyes as best she could.

“Not tonight,” Scott replied, lost in her eyes for a few moments.

“Well,” she smirked, leaning in close to him, “I do, Scott Summers.”

Scott was about to reply when a soft tremor rippled through Rockefeller Center. Despair filled his features for a moment before Jean saw the leadership mask slip back on. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the backup visor he’d carried with him.

Jean frowned deeply, knowing what was about to happen as well, “Someone’s going to owe us a good dinner, damn it.”

With that, the windows of the Rainbow Room shattered inward as enormous purple hands reached inside. Gripping the non-glass structures, the entire building was peeled apart like a rotted banana with shrieks of metal and groans of the superstructure struggling to compensate for the weight of a pair of 16-meter-tall killing machines clinging to the walls.

“PREPARE TO FACE YOUR DOOM, MUTANTS!” the first purple robot spoke up, its eyes flashing as it spoke, “FOR THE SENTINELS HAVE-”

Cyclops tore off his glasses and let loose the full fury of his optic blasts at the Sentinel talking. The robot’s speech was cut off with a shuddering screech as the unbridled force of kinetic energy bleeding from Scott Summers’ eyes proved too much for its reinforced body. With a dull crunch of metal, the body of the sentinel was ripped free from the arm that had a death grip on Rockefeller Center, sending it spiraling into Christie’s of New York across West 49th Street.

“Interrupted our date.” Scott finished as he closed his eyes and clipped on his visor.

Jean rolled her eyes as she telekinetically hefted up the spare fist left behind and punched it through the head of the second sentinel. This one stayed anchored, but slumped over into the Rainbow Room.

“That’s it?” Jean turned to Scott, concern on her face as she moved to close the distance between them.

“For us.” Scott frowned, knowing that several other X-Men would be taken right now as he spoke, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Professor Xavier wouldn’t have cancelled his fishing trip with Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau for anything, and lord only knows where Logan had gone. Both would be kidnapped by now, and Banshee wouldn’t be long in following. Turning to the Rainbow Room’s exit, Scott sighed heavily, “Let’s go, Jean.”

Jean didn’t reply.

Scott was halfway to the elevator when he noticed. Turning around, he asked, “Jean?”

The woman known as Jean Grey was standing near the edge of the hole ripped out of Rockefeller Center, staring up into the sky. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, and an orange glow seemed to surround her as she began to drift up off the floor.

“I can hear it.” she spoke to no one in particular, “The Phoenix.”


	13. Like a Phoenix from the Ashes, Part I

It had only been a few hours since the Sentinels had blatantly attacked the X-Men on Christmas day. It was now about 1am, but Scott Summers felt like it had been weeks. He had expected the Sentinel attack, after all, but his little manipulations with time had already a ripple effect on the timeline. Jean could actually feel the Phoenix Force coming, and while she wasn’t actually on speaking terms with the cosmic entity, she could tell something had caught the creature’s attention. Further, the roster of kidnapped X-Men were a little different than last time.

John Proudstar, Sean Cassidy, and Logan had been taken captive by Steven Lang and his Sentinels. Professor X had also been kidnapped earlier, as attested to by Doctor Peter Corbeau, who was resting up in the medical bay of the X-Mansion. The man never failed to surprise Scott. The first time he’d met the doctor and astronaut, Doc Corbeau had swam from the Bahamas to god-knows-where just to make it back to shore. The fact that he’d shown up drenched and smelling of the sea implied the man might well have been an undetected mutant with abilities like Namor, but times like this and other encounters with the good Doctor just taught Scott to leave those sorts of questions alone.

Scott let out a low groan as he leaned back in his chair. Seated in the Professor’s command room, Scott was surrounded by a half-dozen televisions from various brands and model types. It was a far cry from what the Professor would one day have, what Logan nicknamed “the porn chair” in private chats, but it would do for now. All the TVs were tied to a news channel’s coverage of the Sentinel Attack, now dubbed “the War on Christmas” by ABC7. CNN and the All News Channel could only focus on the fact that the Sentinels had flown out into space, rather than out to sea. It was still the early days of the 24 hour news cycle, and the two networks were desperate for something. J. Jonah Jameson had an interview about how he believed Spider-Man was somehow partially responsible. Anything to fill airtime and get ratings, right?

Running a hand through his hair, the man named Cyclops knew what he had to do. The problem was, it was only four years after the Challenger was lost with all hands. Security was also heightened, thanks to the Soviet Union beginning to collapse. Sure, it meant the end of the Cold War could be at hand, but the government was also rightfully concerned that desperate parties could try and sabotage the next shuttle launch, which wasn’t scheduled for another four months. Or steal it for their own, which was ironically what the X-Men wanted to do. And while Doctor Peter Corbeau, Super Doctor Astronaut Extraordinaire with his own space station Starcore, had been able to pull strings, Scott wasn’t wanting to wait around.

One of the reasons that the Professor had bought Jean and Scott a night on the town was actually sitting in the X-Mansion’s hangar bay at the moment. The Strato-Jet, formerly a prototype variant of the SR-71 Blackbird, had been retrofitted with extra fuel tanks, surplus boosters purchased from NASA, and even the highly cushioned seats used for shuttle launches had been installed. It wasn’t the Blackbird of a decade hence, and it sure wasn’t the Shi’ar infused beast that he’d become used to, but it would do in a pinch. The Professor had assumed it was for future missions, and he was technically right.

There was a knock at the door keeping Scott alone in the command room. Jerked out of his thoughts, Scott turned to get out of his chair. The door opened, and Bobby Drake was standing there. The Iceman was agitated, and it was pretty easy to tell. Bobby’s skin had a slight frosty tinge to it in places, and his hair looked white in color.

“Hey, fearless leader,” Bobby nodded to Scott as he looked past him to look at the TVs, “They’re still going on about the Sentinels?”

Scott shrugged as he began to shut off the televisions, “Anything to keep the news going.”

There was a pause as Bobby seemed to be sizing up Scott, “You know where they are, don’t you?”

“I have some ideas,” a half-lie.

“I’m not dumb, Scott.” Iceman shook his head, closing the door behind me, “You’re not lying to us, I know that. But ever since Krakoa… you’ve known things. Or made preparations for things that just don’t make sense.” Sitting down on the ornate desk where the Professor once kept the antiquated Cerebro system, Bobby continued as he mixed some metaphors, “You’ve always been good at poker, but now it’s like you can see the cards about to be played by life itself.”

Cyclops scratched at the back of his head, letting out a sigh. Bobby and he hadn’t been super-close, but they’d still known one another for six years now… plus or minus the lifetime of experience Scott had. The Professor had stopped asking questions, simply choosing to accept Scott’s changes for the better rather than suspecting the worst… or so Scott hoped. Jean and Logan were in on the truth, and no one else really questioned it. With Hank and Warren off with the Avengers or Champions, Scott hadn’t figured on Bobby being that observant yet.

“I keep forgetting not to underestimate you, Bobby,” Cyclops shook his head and laughed softly. He looked up at his friend and paused for a second, “When this is over, we’ll talk. I promise.”

Bobby clapped Scott on the shoulder as the two stood up, “Fair enough, Scott. I’m going to hold you to that.” He motioned to the door, “So. Plan. What crazy crap are we going to do today?”

Scott opened the door for Bobby, “...ever wanted to act out a scene from Star Trek 5?”

\-------------------

Within a few minutes, the Strato-Jet let out a howling roar as the craft took off into the night sky. The specially-designed booster engines installed beneath the craft’s wings glowed a dull red before a second separate roar ripped through the quiet night alongside the main engines. The craft pulled up into the sky slowly, arcing out of the Earth’s atmosphere. Silently, the upgraded jet ignited its Ion Engines and slipped forward deeper into the inky black of space.

Over 1,340 miles out into space, an old and abandoned space station orbits the Earth. When it was in use, dictators and dignitaries, physicists and fools, and even Avengers have visited its hollow corridors. That was years ago, before the budget cuts in the Carter administration forced SHIELD to leave the space platform. Rather than scuttle the space station, it was left to rot and fall to pieces with the passage of time. However, that relied upon no other national power or crazy rich individuals deciding that a space station built by the best unlimited funds the United States had at the height of the Cold War would be a great thing to own.

Enter Steven Lang, heir to the crazy notion that mutants should all be exterminated by giant robots stationed in space. He had fought the original X-Men a few times years back, before Krakoa. Lang was done working with plans manipulating other mutants to have them fight the X-Men. Instead, not only had he come across the deactivated space station as someone rich would do if they went into space, but he had also found the government’s archived plans for Bolivar Trask’s Sentinel project.

It was a good day for Lang, having also just captured three of his dreaded foes. He didn’t know any of them, mind you, but that was beside the point. Lang had some Mutants to torture later, and a fleet of Sentinels being made under his command.

As Lang entered the control hub of SHIELD Space 1, a distinct soft alarm was blaring off on the side of the room. He crossed the room to the sensor hub, manned by one of his mutant-hating volunteers. It was Joe’s shift, and he was flipping switches like a madman.

“What’s going on, Jones?” Lang asked, putting a hand on the headrest of Joe Jones’ chair, “Did the Commies launch another space probe?”

Joe looked up at his boss, “Well, sir, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve got something on sensors, but it keeps reading as an SR-71 Blackbird.”

“What.”

Joe looked over the scans again, scratching his head, “Yeah, that looks like an SR-71 Blackbird. Damndest thing, it’s coming right for us as well.”

Another alarm ripped through the command center. Lang whirled around, wondering what the hell was happening to his perfect day. This alarm was coming from the communications console, manned by someone whose name Lang had yet to learn.

“Incoming communication, sir!” he shouted, flipping switches to bring the transmission to the overhead speakers.

Immediately, the full orchestral theme from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn ripped across the speakers.

“I know you’re there, Lang.” Scott Summers’ voice spoke over an low point in the song, “And I’m coming for you. X-Men! Brace for impact!”


End file.
